Through The Winter
by lajabs
Summary: Conor has a burden he cannot share with anyone, least of all Catlin. This is a WIP since 1997. UPDATE: I've edited and added breaks to existing chapters. Am currently working on Chapter 17. February 15, 2006
1. Echoes Of The Past

Disclaimer: I do not own anyone. Universal, Sea Change, Mr.'s Cassidy & Koslow, et. al. own them. Any characters you do not recognize, I probably own. Please do not sue me.

WARNING: This fanfic contains lots of references to Episode 9 "Tash". If you haven't seen it yet and don't want to spoil the surprise, you may want to skip it.

PLEASE NOTE: This fanfic was started after I saw Traps and Tash, but before I saw Daybreak, The Cage and Sweet Brigid. The story does not take into account things that happened in the last three eps.

* * *

Conor surveyed the ruins that had once been his village. The land had already taken over in the year since Gar had burned it, and his family, to the ground. Wild grasses and blue heather grew in craggy patches, in-between where walls and houses once stood. The sun shown brilliantly. Here and there he caught glimpses of life: a grasshopper leaping from blade to blade, birds peeking through branches, an inquisitive rabbit searching among the stones for a sweet berry.

Could it have only been a year? He thought about the impatient boy he'd been. Always wanting to keep up with his older brother. In one fiery moment everything had changed. The man he'd become thought back and wished he had just one more day with those he had loved. And lost. _An saol seo go dti an saol aile_. From this life to the next. Good is as eternal as evil. The Father had taught him that. Again he felt a tinge of sadness as he thought of Glas, the boy with no choice. Much like himself. Even though the young leader was dead, his spirit lived on through the land. Conor knew his duty, his fight. When he felt the sorrow attempting to overcome him, he remembered those who had died. If he didn't continue to fight, their lives and deaths would have been in vain.

He wondered what his father would think of him now. When he had died, Conor had been Derek's unsettled son. He was never prepared to be a leader; that was Aiden's burden. He wondered if his father would be proud. He knew Fergus, though he would never admit it, was proud of the work that they were doing. The big bald ox loved him like a son. He often times marveled at the depths of man's loyalty.

The people in the Sanctuary had become his new family. People brought together in turmoil. Tully had never really known another family. He had lost his own even earlier than Conor did. The young man was tough and resilient and reminded Conor of his former self. Always wanting to go forward. However, Tully was less foolhardy than he himself had been. He had already learned the harsh lessons of survival.

Then there was Catlin. He sighed... Catlin. She knew Conor better than anyone, even Fergus. She understood his heart. She was his best friend, his conscious. Catlin was the only one who saw through the mask he had to wear as a leader. She knew his doubts and fears, his lingering guilt and sorrow. She knew because she had experienced so many of the same things herself. Conor could never know the horrors she must have endured as a slave, but he understood Catlin enough to help her through the painful memories. She could make him laugh, usually at himself. She was what kept him grounded, sane. He smiled at the thought of her and casually picked a few of the wild flowers that were growing in the remnants of the stable. As if by magic, he heard her voice.

"Conor?"

He turned around quickly. She stood at the edge of what had been his home. Sun shrouded her face. Her long hair rustled in the breeze. She glistened like an apparition, like something out of a dream. She was beautiful.

"Are you all right?" she asked worriedly walking over to him.

"I'm fine," he smiled.

"What were you thinking about?" she said softly, her eyes full of concern.

Conor gazed at her face, lost in thought.

"What?"

"I said," she smiled with a hint of sarcastic annoyance, "What were you thinking about?"

His gaze quickly fell to the ground. He suddenly seemed quite interested in the grass.

She was slightly puzzled. "No secrets, remember?" she said referring to the first time either had kept a part of their lives hidden from the other.

Conor looked back up at her. He took a flower and plaited it in her hair among her braids. A serious look cast over his face, warning her not to laugh. He lifted his hands to her face and looked her deep in the eyes.

"I was thinking about you," he whispered.

"What?" she said softly. Catlin's face began to feel warm.

"You heard me," he smiled.

She returned his smile and looked into his eyes.

"Conor..." she started with uncertainty. He put a finger to her lips.

"Catlin... I need to tell you this while I still have the courage-" he stopped at the sound of horses.

They quickly scanned all directions, looking for a place to hide.

"Cat, this way."

Conor grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the trees at the eastern perimeter of the ruins. They reached safety in time to see a group of people ride through.

"Are they Longinus' men?" Catlin whispered.

Conor searched the arms of the group as they rode through the square. He nodded a quick affirmative and squeezed her hand. He silently pulled her close to him, encircling his arm around her waist. They crouched in the brush as motionless as possible. The seconds ticked by like hours. Conor could only hear bits of the conversation between the leader and his group-enough to know that they were out looking for Conor and his people. After an eternity they rode on towards the west. Catlin and Conor waited until they were over the ridge and they could no longer hear the sounds of hooves before they emerged from their hiding place.

For a moment, neither spoke.

"Catlin, we've got to warn the others."

She nodded. He grabbed her hand and they ran as fast as they could toward the Sanctuary.


	2. The Sanctuary

Tully snapped his fingers. In theory, the pile of straw was to turn into a bunch of beautiful flowers. In his reality, nothing happened. He let out a frustrated sigh and let his head fall, the mass of ebony braids obscuring his face. There were so many times he wished the old druid still roamed the Sanctuary. After all, what good was being a magician's apprentice when there was no one to teach you the magic? He thought back many years ago, when he first asked the druid to help him learn to be a magician. The old wizard's face, care worn and wrinkled, lit up, as it always did when the boy approached. Tully was the closest thing Galen had to a son, and Galen, the closest Tully had to a father.

* * *

_"Well," the boy had said impatiently, "When will I be old enough to learn? As old as you?"_

_"No... Not that old," the druid laughed._

_Galen sat down on a nearby rock and motioned for Tully to sit next to him. The boy sat and pulled his legs up underneath him._

_The druid picked up a handful of dirt and slowly spoke the ancient spell. He threw the earth into the sky. It glittered like starlight and gently fell down to the ground._

_"Fairy dust!" the boy said with delight._

* * *

Tully was pulled back into the present by the rustle of approaching footsteps: Fergus, by the sound of it. He did not turn, he merely called out. 

"What is it, Fergus?"

The big warrior stopped in his tracks. Tully hadn't turned to look at him; he just seemed to know who was there.

"How'd you know it was me, lad?"

Tully turned to face Fergus and let a slightly smug look cross his face.

"Magic."

* * *

Catlin was nearly out of breath. She and Conor had run the entire way from the ruins of his old home. Unfortunately, neither had made the journey out with a horse. Both had decided it was a nice day to walk. Both had had many things to think about. Now all Catlin could think about was getting back to warn the others. She looked at Conor. His face bore the serious cast of some impending trouble. The burden of leadership wore heavily upon him. Catlin knew he would alter his expression the moment they entered the confines of their cavern home. 

Just ahead Conor saw the hill that partially shrouded the Sanctuary's entrance. He slowed his all out run to a brisk walk, as did Catlin, following his lead. There was no need to start a panic. He glanced over at Catlin. She had momentarily closed her eyes. She was taking deep breaths to try to calm the signs of their run. He could also sense her worry.

Catlin felt his gaze, protective and concerned. She opened her eyes.

"I'm alright," her hoarse voice cracked.

He gave her a quick smile and put his hand on her back. He needed reassurance, too. The thought of losing his second home-and his duty to stop that from happening, weighed heavily on his mind.

They entered the Sanctuary. Conor called the sentries to his side. He calmly explained their situation. Catlin stood by and watched the leader. He knew how to alert them with caution but not blind them with fear. The gravity of the situation was obvious, but the guards knew their important role and returned attention to the task at hand.

Catlin and Conor ventured farther into the Sanctuary. They passed the waterfall and stepped over the rocks across the stream. For a moment, Conor stopped to realize how beautiful this place was. Only now, when it was possible he might lose it, did he notice its magnificence. A few yards further along, they ran into Fergus and Tully. It was a scene they'd come across often: the younger man, trying to astound the older with feats of magic; the older man scoffing at the younger man's "nonsense".

"Ah," Fergus said turning to face the new arrivals, "it's about time the two of you showed up."

"Fergus..." Conor said dejectedly, "Catlin and I came across a group of Longinus' men..."

"Are you alright?" the warrior asked worriedly.

"They didn't see us... But they're looking for the Sanctuary."

"Sweet Brigid."

* * *

The four set off to work. Conor called a quick meeting and explained their situation to everyone. Again, he was able to calm what could have been panic. The faces of their friends bore the look of quiet resignation. These people had all known fear, loss, pain. They had also, recently, known happiness, security and pride. A little girl Niamh walked over to Catlin and gently tugged on her sleeve. 

"Do we have to leave, Calin?" she said missing the 't' in her name completely.

The woman kneeled down and looked the youngster in the eyes.

"No, Niamh. We just need to be very careful..."

"And quiet?" the big green eyes peered at her.

"Yes, that too." She smiled at the pink-cheeked cherub.

"I'll make sure we're quiet," the little one said fiercely.

Catlin leaned over and whispered in her ear, "With you on guard, there's nothing to fear."

The girl beamed proudly then walked back to her parents.

* * *

Later that evening, the four sat down at supper. The gravity of the situation covered the room like a cloak. 

"Are we canceling the journey North?" Tully finally asked what was on their minds.

"I think we'd better," Conor said, "Now that Longinus is hunting for us."

"Maybe we should still go," Catlin proposed. "Longinus is gathering more troops every day. We need to get there before he does."

"She's right, lad," Fergus agreed.

"We can't leave the Sanctuary undefended..." Conor said, "I'll go alone."

"Conor, that's madness," Fergus said.

"Well, do you have a better idea? Because I would love to hear it," he said in frustration.

"You and Catlin go. Tully and I will stay here. We'll post sentries along the perimeter and lie low for a while."

Conor looked at the big man and smiled. "Are you sure _you_ don't want to be leader?" As much as he hated to admit it, the old man had a point.

"Then it's settled," Catlin said as she got up from the table.

"Where are you going?" Tully asked.

"To get some sleep, "she smiled. "I'll need all my strength to put up with him for three days journey."

She casually nodded her head toward Conor. He smiled at her and watched her leave the room. A slightly dazed look spread across his face. Three days. Alone. With Catlin. This should be interesting.

Tully laughed and stood up. "I'll go help pack your supplies." He slipped out of the room.

Conor sighed and glanced over at Fergus as he tore a piece of bread.

"I hope you're right."

"Ah, don't worry about us, lad. You have to figure out a way to get Ian to join the Confederation."


	3. A Journey In The Night

Catlin sat on her bed surveying the items laid out before her. She aimlessly packed: folding, bundling, rolling, tying but her mind had wandered elsewhere... to earlier that day when Conor had held her face in his hands. She knew it was pointless. He was still in love with Claire-he was still in mourning. Catlin would never be anyone but a friend and a warrior. A hint of a melancholy smile touched her face. After all, she was happy. The girl who had lost her parents, her sister, her freedom had finally found a life. She was important, she mattered. Conor, Fergus, Tully, every person in the Sanctuary had given her their friendship, their love. They never pitied her - never looked down at her. If she never found love, she would still be content. Time had taught her that life was cruel. Time had warned her to be thankful for what she had. There was no reason to expect more, she was already more blessed than she had hoped or deserved to be.

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear Fergus approach. He walked into her bedchamber and stood staring. A few moments went by, but the girl didn't notice the tall warrior.

"Catlin? Lass are you alright?"

She looked up suddenly, her eyes losing the misty, far off look of moments before. Her mouth hung open for a second.

"Fergus... I didn't hear you come in." She smiled up at the man.

He sat down at the edge of her bed, pushing aside the supplies. Fergus could be a brutal warrior, deadly in his skill and strength. Usually, though, he was about as brutal as a lamb. A booming baritone chuckle filled the silence.

"You're probably thinking about having to deal with Conor on a long trip... Better you than me." Fergus smiled at Catlin.

His eyes questioned hers with a measured stare. "So," he said conspiratorially, "What did you find out?"

Catlin smirked then turned away from the rugged face. Only one man in her whole life had been worthy of her total trust. Now, she felt as if she were betraying him.

"Fergus... I'm sure he's fine... we didn't even get a chance to talk before the riders came through."

The downward gaze was all Fergus needed to surmise the girl hadn't even asked him.

"You didn't ask him, did you?"

The question came out like an accusation. Fergus immediately regretted the tone. A flash of defensiveness, then a spark of anger lit her pale blue eyes.

"Fergus... I know he'd tell us if something were bothering him... He'll tell us when he's ready." She stood up resolutely and continued packing. "And I am not going to spy on him. He means too much to me."

Catlin couldn't catch herself before speaking the last thought aloud. Traitorous crimson lined her cheeks. She continued to busy herself with her work and didn't dare look at Fergus. The big man smiled. Over the past year it had become plainly evident to him that there were unspoken feelings between the archer and the prince. If it were that apparent to him, as thick skulled as he tended to be, why wasn't it obvious to those two? Ah, he thought, maybe this trip will clear the air. He stood up and clapped Cat lightly on the shoulder. She turned back and smiled at him as he left the room. Fergus had just stepped out the threshold when he turned and leaned back in.

"Catlin?"

She turned and faced him. His eyes darkened slightly and a look of seriousness clouded his face.

"Conor doesn't always remember that he's a leader... that he can't go taking foolish risks."

Fergus hesitated for a moment. Before he could finish the thought, Catlin's voice sounded with a determination and calm strength he had never heard before.

"I'll die to protect him."

* * *

Dusk had turned to a black and ominous night. Conor walked along a gentle stream in the woods near the Sanctuary's entrance. The temperature was dropping fast and he hugged his brown cloak closer around him. What am I doing out here? He couldn't seem to remember what he had been searching for so late at night, so far away from his bed. There was mist in the woods and the sounds of crickets were muffled. He heard, no, felt the approach of thundering hooves. He walked toward the sound. In a shallow valley clearing he saw Catlin. Bruises lined her cheeks. An arrow was imbedded in her shoulder. Blood streamed from cuts in her face. She stood surrounded on three sides. To her fourth a rocky path leading back to the woods. Conor urged his feet faster, but they were moving as if through mud. He drew his sword and locked his gaze on her, urging his legs still faster. Catlin let loose an arrow, toppling the only remaining archer in the guard. Conor slashed to his left, felling the centurion like a tree. Discarding her bow a metallic slither filled the night as Catlin drew her sword. Still moving closer - the prince slashed through guards as if they were ghosts. Not one attempted to fight back. 100 paces to her. Almost there. She finally turned and saw him. His eyes widened in horror as he saw how brutally hurt she was. She looked at him, her eyes gleaming with fire.

"Get back!" She yelled, gesturing toward their only escape to the East with a nod of her head.

50 paces. A guard approached quickly from the South. He ignored Conor who speared him in the side. Catlin's attention went back to Conor.

"Conor, go!" she commanded.

10 paces. Lead weights still bound his feet. Then he saw him. Pallid face. Wavy hair. Death. He stood right behind Catlin, pulling back with a long stick. Conor's mouth shaped the words but no sound escaped. Not even breath. 5 paces. Longinus thrust forward with the stick, sending it through Catlin's back. Her face twisted in a sudden violent grimace and her agonized scream filled the night. The force of Longinus' thrust sent the stick out through her stomach. Precious blood splattered across Conor's face. He looked at the object sticking out of her torso... it was the burnished black head of the Spear. The Spear he had destroyed. Catlin's face clouded with a hazy look as blood spilled from her lips. Longinus pulled the weapon out and pushed Catlin's body toward Conor. Still barely standing, she struggled forward and fell into him. His arms went around her wounded body and her head rested on his chest, limp and lifeless. He sank to the ground sobbing silently. He let loose a voiceless scream.

* * *

Conor sat up straight in his bed with a muffled cry. Shallow gasps escaped his mouth as he tried to control his breathing. The chill of the night had no influence on him: he was sweating from head to toe. Trying to shake the dream away, he got up and walked out into the crisp night air. It was just a dream. Catlin was fine. But the blood... he had felt it on his face. He had felt her lifeless body cradled against his own. His feet followed the familiar path to her chamber. He softly walked to her bedside and sat down. Catlin was still. A wave of nausea coursed through his stomach. She couldn't be dead. Hastily he reached down and stroked her cheek with his hand. She was warm. He then noticed her rhythmic breathing. She was just sleeping. His panicked heart started to quiet. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.

"Conor?" the slightly disoriented voice whispered.

His eyes sprang open to see her sitting up and questioning him with her eyes. There were dark circles under his soft brown eyes. His blonde curls were rumpled into tangled knots. His skin was pale and he was breathing shakily.

"Conor, are you alright?"

He gave her a half-hearted smile and tried to gain his composure.

"I'm fine... I... I didn't mean to wake you... Goodnight."

He stood up and started to leave. Catlin pulled back her covers and got up to follow him. She rested a hand on his bare shoulder and gently spun him round to face her. His skin was warm to the touch. Too warm. Sticky beads of perspiration clung to him.

"You're burning up," Catlin marveled as her hands wandered to his cheeks and forehead. She pulled him back to the bed. "Sit down," it was an order.

Disappearing into the darkened corner of the room, she soaked a tattered strip of cloth in her washing bowl. Conor heard the trickle of water as she wrung it out. The sound shocked him back into the dream. A vision. Catlin's blood pooling on the hardened earth. The hollow sound of dripping. Violently shrugging off the sensation he closed his eyes and let out another shaky breath. It had all seemed so real. The smell of the wet grass. The sight of her blood. The feel of her form as she fell lifelessly- No!

Without him noticing it, Catlin had returned to his side. Wordlessly, she pressed the cool cloth to his forehead and down his cheeks. Here he was, barging in on Catlin's sleep and she was consoling him, caring for him. He felt weak and foolish. Had his father ever been so scared so easily? Perhaps he was going crazy. Maybe he was just a raving lunatic. Conor placed his left hand over Catlin's right and pulled it away from his face. Slowly, his eyes opened.

"Catlin... I'm fine."

He tried to smile. Was he convincing her? Or himself? A measured stare studied his face.

Catlin recognized the hollow look in his eyes. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong... but she knew he wasn't going to tell her.

"Are you sure?" she offered as he stood up.

He turned back to face her and gently tucked some wayward strands of hair behind her ear.

"It was just a dream... I'll see you in the morning."

He touched her lightly on the shoulder, smiled and left. For a moment she contemplated following him, but thought better of it and stood inside the doorway, watching him leave. Conor walked several paces, then turned and looked back at her, as if expecting her not to be there. Blushing slightly, she smiled and waved at him. It was dark. She hoped he hadn't noticed the colouring of her cheeks.

Conor walked into the night. Hopefully she hadn't been able to tell how worried he was. This was Catlin, however, and she knew him too well. He cast a backward glance to her chamber and found her inquisitive eyes staring back at him. His face reddened as she waved. For a moment, he paused, smiling back at her. If he dreamt of her again, he hoped she would look as he had just seen her: smiling, happy, safe.


	4. The Druid's Spell

Diana stared blankly into the hearth fire. Red-hued light lit her face in an ominous glow. Her mood matched the smoldering embers within. Longinus had been gone for nearly a week. Gone. Without so much as a word to where he was going. It seemed like more and more his plans didn't include her. She often wondered how much longer she would be any use to him. Is that how she had once felt about him? Just another person to use? She had felt nothing for Gar, to whom she had married, manipulated, killed. She had felt nothing for the countless men whom she had invited into her bed. Just stepping-stones. Just means to an end.

Why did she still care about what Longinus said or did? He had shown nothing but contempt and utter lack of regard for her lately. It was a dangerous game they played. Twice she had almost paid the price, with her life. He knew she would never leave him. She knew it as well. As sick as it sounded, she still needed him. Even though he tried to send that girl's spirit into her body. Even though he showed no concern for her life when Conor had placed her in the trap. To Longinus, her life was nothing more than a tool. Nothing more than a good bargaining position.

Lazily, she drank the rest of her wine and threw the goblet into the fire with a loud crash. She yelled at the broken shards of clay, willing their destruction even further.

The door opened with a flurry.

"My Queen?" The guard leaned in the room, military concern plastered across his face.

She turned to face him.

"I'm fine," she snapped.

Puzzled eyes stared back at her. A slow realization emerged from the depths of her drunken thoughts. He was the guard she had taken into her bed last night. Did she even know his name? Had she ever bothered to ask? Perhaps it had been loneliness. More likely, she was trying to payback Longinus. What right had he? How dare he? Entwined with the guard she had hoped Longinus would return to find them. To know that she needed him less than he needed her. To know that he was easily and utterly replaceable.

"My Queen?" the guard asked again, pulling her back out of her thoughts. Her eyes softened as she walked over to him.

"Excuse me," she purred, laying a silken hand on his arm. "I'm a bit tired and have had a little too much to drink."

Slowly her hands moved up his arms, across his shoulders and down his chest. Leaning in to his ear, she gently whispered, "Draw me a bath."

Bewildered and more than a little aroused, the guard quickly left his post. She shut the door behind him and sank into the pillows in front of the fire.

* * *

Dawn came quickly. Conor had slept, but thankfully did not dream. As the sun rose, he felt more and more convinced that he had imagined the whole thing. The dream was just that. A dream. He was worried about the Romans finding their keep. He was uneasy about the trip. Ian and his people were known to Conor. They were skilled warriors and not very trusting. In those days that seemed so long ago, Derek had spoken of that tribe with respect but caution. How he wished his father, his family was still here. Sometimes the job of leadership seemed so at odds with who he wanted to be. All of his life he had never been envious of Aiden's role as eldest. He often times looked on his older brother with pity. His destiny was fixed. In the end, so was Conor's.

Fergus poked his head into the room. "Are you ready, lad?"

"Are you that anxious to get rid of me?" He laughed back.

"Aye..." the big man smiled.

Conor got up and dressed. Again his thoughts drifted, although to a more pleasant thought. Three days might be just right to clear the air. Maybe in three days time he would know her feelings as well. Smiling to himself he grabbed his pack and headed out into the crisp morning.

* * *

"Tully!" Catlin laughed with exasperation.

How much more of his questioning could she endure?

"Just answer the question," he ribbed her.

Blushing she looked away from him.

"Nothing is going on. He's still mourning Claire... We're just friends."

"Well," he said smiling, "I don't believe you!"

She rolled her eyes and picked up her pack. On her way out the door Tully stopped her.

"Catlin..." his tone had changed abruptly.

There was a decided serious cast to the way he spoke her name. Looking into his eyes, the smile slowly ebbed from her face.

"What is it?"

"I have a really bad feeling about this trip... I just hope you'll be careful."

He looked at her for a moment, then impulsively kissed her on the cheek and ran out into the early morning. She followed him out, but he was already gone, disappeared into thin air.

Her gaze traveled across the distance to Conor. His spirits seemed lifted from the night before. A smile crookedly played across his face as Fergus slapped him on the back. Shaking off the foreboding feeling of Tully's warning, Catlin smiled back at the two men and made her way to where they waited.

"Ah, lass. Did you sleep well?" Fergus greeted her.

Conor's gaze shot to her face asking her to forget his strange visit.

"I'm ready to go," she avoided him.

Tying her pack to the roan mare she turned back to face the two.

"Are you ready Conor?" she questioned pulling herself onto the animal's back.

"Take care, old man," he smiled, clapping Fergus on the back. "And remember, if you do a good enough job, you may find yourself the permanent leader."

"Not bloody likely," Fergus laughed.

Conor leapt into the saddle. In a moment, they were off.

Fergus watched them leave, wondering where Tully had gone. It wasn't like him to not wish his friends well. Glancing up into the sky he noticed large dark clouds rolling in. Distant thunder rumbled. Feeling a sudden chill, Fergus pulled his gray cloak tighter around him. Never one to fearfully believe premonition, he was suddenly struck with the thought that he'd never see his friends alive again.

* * *

Longinus opened his eyes. In an instant he knew. The druid's spell had worked. The nightmares had begun. A low laugh emerged from his mouth. The dusty light of dawn pressed through the cracks in the old wizard's hut. A glint of sun shined on the object in his hand: a small, thin, silver dagger. Turning it over in his palm, he stared at the blade. How small, how insignificant had it been? And now the dried blood upon its blade had given him the chance for true revenge. The weapon had been thrown across the room and had stuck in the boy's leg, wounding him slightly. Discarded with a small wince and left forgotten on the floor.

When all was said and done, the dagger's owner was dead. Longinus remembered the words the girl had read from the scroll.

* * *

"_...But have faith, for there is no greater truth than the one that lives in you."_

_From below, he heard the sound of Diana's guards approaching. The boy looked towards the stairs with alarm, realizing their perilous situation._

"_Come, this way," the guardian of the tower had urged, ushering them to a door in the back of the room. _

_Conor stood and regarded Longinus with an uneasy stare, his young gaze fixed on the hollow eyes of the immortal._

"_Go," Longinus said, gesturing towards the door. _

_Casting another glance to the stairs, Conor disappeared into the small hidden chamber. Longinus began to leave when he caught sight of the dagger. It glistened red, the boy's blood beginning to dry upon the blade. Impulsively, he picked it up and carefully placed it in his pocket, then started down the stairs to meet Diana. He would tell her that all had been destroyed and the prisoners had fled to the woods._

* * *

Twice that night he had shown the Prince mercy. Twice that night he had saved his life. Longinus had only ever asked him for once small gift in return: peace. Eternal peace. He had begged Conor to grant him his one wish, but the Prince dismissed him and left him to suffer. Now it was his turn to make the boy pay. He wondered what terrible losses Conor would suffer in his sleep. What was it he valued most? The Confederation? His friends? His home? Perhaps it was a woman... The girl. That must be it. Again Longinus' mind drifted to the past. Diana's bedchamber. The boy begging for her help, his help to free his friend.

* * *

"_The question is... what are you willing to sacrifice in return?" Longinus posed._

"_Everything." _

* * *

It hadn't merely been his answer, but the look in his eyes, the desperation in his plea. Later, when he had gone to the chamber, Conor had threatened him.

* * *

"_If anything happens to her... if you make it worse in any way... you'll wish you'd killed me when you had the chance."_

* * *

Longinus smiled. This was almost going to be too easy. Every night, Conor's dreams would be full of her death. Every night Conor would watch in horror, unable to stop it. And every night her death would come at the hands of a man Conor had refused to kill, when he had the chance. Eventually, when the time was right, he would capture her and kill her. And so the game would go until he had succeeded in destroying all that Conor cared for. He would leave the boy to live, of course, for his existence, soulless and seemingly unending, would be his true punishment.

He was snapped back to the reality of the present by the sound of the old druid shuffling about. How interesting. Men of religion were supposed to be divine. Ordained by the gods to serve. Yet he could always find one who had his price. It was true on this island. It was true in Rome. The old ways as well as the new.

Anxious to return to work, Longinus slipped out the door and into the woods, leaving behind only a small bag of coins and a brand upon the arm of his host.


	5. An Uneasy Start

The travelers continued their journey under the somber sky. The heavens seemed to be hiding some dark unending secret. Neither spoke, simply rode on in the quiet company of close friends. Fat drops of rain began to fall to the earth.

"Lovely weather," Catlin smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

Conor looked over at her, his eyes searching hers for something. What, she couldn't place.

"Are you alright?" she finally asked.

"Just a bit tired," was his response.

"Conor... last night... what did you dream about?" she said in a soft voice.

He looked straight on the trail ahead and avoided her questioning face. He shut his eyes for a moment and swallowed. Visions of that terrible nightmare crept back into his thoughts. He wanted so much to be able to tell her. To unburden himself. But he couldn't. Not when the dreams foretold of her own death. Summoning strength he opened his eyes, smiled and laughed half-heartedly.

"It was nothing. Probably just something I ate."

Catlin knew it was a lie, but she played along anyway.

"That's why I never eat Fergus' cooking."

The subject was dropped, for the moment and they settled into comfortable banter.

By midday, the clouds had begun to lift. Their spirits were buoyed as well. How many moments, during the day's ride had Conor looked for a way to slip in that conversation he started yesterday? Was that only yesterday? More time had seemed to pass since then. With dusk the fall air turned colder. The chirps of crickets filled the darkness. Again, the dream returned sharply. The sounds of crickets, the sounds of Catlin's dying scream. Conor shivered and tried to push the bloody images from his mind.

"Conor!" Catlin's voice was impatient.

"What?" he answered hazily.

"I've been calling your name... are you sure you're alright?" Catlin said, stopping her mare.

She jumped off the horse without waiting for Conor's answer. He searched the spot. There was a small stream running along the thick mass of trees to the right. Tying her horse to a tree Catlin grabbed her bow and quiver and headed into the thicket.

"Make a fire," she yelled back to him, "I'll be right back."

As she disappeared into woods the pale grip of fear caught him again. Conor jumped off his horse and headed into the woods after her.

"Catlin, wait!" he yelled.

Catlin ran through the woods, tracking her prey. She came to a clearing and saw the small rabbit streak across the meadow. Raising her bow she took aim. A split second before she let the arrow fly, Conor came crashing through the brush. Startled, her arm moved slightly and the arrow missed its mark.

"Cat!" he yelled running over to her.

"What is it?"

She was annoyed by the fact that they were now without supper, but the look on Conor's face... Placing his hands on her arms he started to pull her back towards the woods.

"What is it!" she said breaking free of his grasp.

"I just... I..." he shook his head.

The clearing was exactly the same as in the dream. How could this be? He half expected to see Longinus appear out of thin air.

"Conor, would you please tell me what's going on?" she implored.

Gently she placed her hands on his face, forcing him to look her in the eyes.

"Please tell me... please."

In that split second, he actually considered telling her.

"I don't think you should go off by yourself... it's not safe," he said, pulling her hands away from his face and holding them in his.

A slightly miffed expression played across her cheeks and her jaw set stubbornly. How dare he? Didn't he realize how important his life was? He was the symbol of the Confederation. She was merely a foot soldier.

"Conor," she said the words distinctly, "I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself... If anyone should be careful- it's you."

"What?" Now he was the one who was getting mad.

"You are the leader - you need to be more careful. Your life is more important than-"

"You're right about one thing," he said forcefully, "I _am_ the leader... and right now I'm giving an order that you shouldn't go off alone."

Staring at him in disbelief, she was far past the point of annoyance. She was angry. Quickly, she ran the short distance and collected her wayward arrow. Walking back towards the woods she ignored him completely.

"Where are you going?"

Venomously, she spun back to face him.

"Back to the horses. That is, if that's alright with you, my Lord," she said sarcastically, bowing low.

* * *

When he reached her, she was already sitting by a small fire. Orange light lit the tiny camp. Obviously, Catlin was still angry. Her eyes didn't meet his as she spoke to him.

"You made me miss my mark, so there's no meat."

"I'm sorry."

The apology caught her slightly off guard. Her head raised to meet his gaze. Lost in his brown eyes, she softly spoke.

"Apology accepted."

"Cat, I only - "she cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"I'm tired, Conor... Let's just not get into this right now." She poked at the fire with a long stick.

"I'll take the first watch," he said walking over to a slight rise where a broad oak stood, sheltering their spot.

Leaning up against the tree he watched as she silently unwrapped her sleeping pack. Thick blankets spread out on the grassy floor. Catlin burrowed herself in their folds. For a brief moment she gazed at him from across the fire studying his eyes, his face, she let herself smile.

"Goodnight."

He flashed her a lopsided grin.

"Does that mean I'm forgiven?" he sat up, looking over the fire.

"It means 'goodnight,'" she said as she lay back on her camp bed.


	6. Claire

The figure moved quietly, stealthily. Her face was covered in the shadows of a long hood. Surreptitiously she glanced left, then right before proceeding up the stairs to Longinus' throne room.

When she entered the room she found herself alone. Curiously, she peered around at the hall. An ancient stone throne sat in the center by the back wall. In her father's day, King Dar, then his son Gar, had occupied the seat. With the coming of Rome, however, all that had changed. So many of the people of her village feared change. Leading sedentary lives they were content to live as their parents had. And their parents' parents. And so on. Rome meant change. It meant civilization... It meant power. In days to come even she would be powerful. A smile played across her face as she anxiously awaited the arrival of her lord.

From down the hall she heard the complaining of Diana. The only thing she couldn't understand was how someone like Longinus could have that woman as a companion. Slipping into the shadows she hid herself as the bleating woman stormed into the room.

"I don't care how important 'secrecy' was! How dare you leave without informing me!" she fumed.

"I can't completely trust you, Diana... In fact, I can't trust you at all. You've proven that to me already," the calm silken voice said.

Without looking, the woman knew it was Longinus. She then heard shuffling as if a minor struggle.

"Let go of me," Diana glowered. "I command you!"

Leaning her head slightly to watch the couple, the woman held her breath, fearing yet anticipating her master's reaction to the impudent Queen. Longinus pulled Diana to him and let go of her arms. She wrapped them around his neck and kissed him passionately. Their hungered embrace lasted for quite some time. Abruptly, the dark haired beauty let go of him, pulled away and slapped him hard across the face.

"Don't think you own me," she hissed as she walked away. He let her go.

"I suppose that means you missed me," he laughed after her.

The heavy door closed with an impertinent thud. Scanning the room with his eyes, Longinus softly spoke.

"You can come out now..."

"My Lord," she said, savoring his presence.

Smiling to himself, Longinus thought how obedient this particular servant was. Often times he wished Diana would revere him as well. But, Diana without her impetuous ways was not nearly as enticing as the real Diana. Even though little mattered to him, else revenge, Diana could still incite desire in him. Turning away from his thoughts, he redirected his attention to the cloaked woman before him.

"I have special plans for you..."

Rising she walked along side of him as he explained why he had summoned her.

"One of his soldiers is a woman named Catlin... They're very close... If you find them, bring her to me... alive."

"And Conor?"

"He mustn't be harmed... or captured." He paused for a moment. "First, though, I want you to gain their trust... it's not the speed of the capture that interests me... it is the betrayal... Perhaps you can gather information about them in the meantime... things I can use against him in the future."

"I won't fail you," she said with relish.

Smiling, he placed his hand under her chin and tilted her face to his. In a breathless moment, she thought he would kiss her. Instead, he let the smile slide off his face and sneered.

"You'd better not," he said with a darkened stare.

Pushing her away he turned to leave the room. In that moment she was frightened of him, but only for a brief moment. Bowing again she regained her composure. He turned back to face her.

"Thank you, my Lord."

He waved her off and she slipped into the shadows once again. After all... it was what she did best.

* * *

Snap. In a flash Conor opened his eyes. An all too familiar sound cracked open the night and his dreams. A careless soldier's boot crushing a fallen twig. He had fallen asleep on watch. How could he have been so careless? Before he could unsheathe his sword they were upon them. Catlin's fitful sleep roughly shattered by Roman guards pulling her callously upright. Arms encircled him, twisting his wrists painfully behind his own back.

As the events unfolded, Conor could recognize an uncanny heightened awareness. The smell of the smoldering campfire; dying embers burning in the wet wood. Crickets chirping away in blissful unawareness. The hollow sounds of each vile Roman shout. A light mist had rolled in and the pre-dawn hours threatened rain.

Focusing on her eyes Conor quickly tried to plot a way out of their dilemma. He could tell by Catlin's own intense gaze that she was working on the same problem.

Surprisingly the guards, after their initial orders during the capture, remained silent and made no move to tie the captives up. They simply held them where they were and waited.

It seemed an eternity before the sound of approaching footsteps broke the unearthly tableau. The man came from behind Conor. Although he couldn't see his approach, he knew who it was. Mirrored in Catlin's face was a stone cold expression. The planning of moments before gone. Her eyes took on a look of hatred and resignation.

Longinus.

He walked past Conor without even turning to look at him. Moving in behind Catlin, Longinus draped his right arm across her shoulder and around her neck. He held her wrists with his left hand. Catlin struggled, but to no avail. Conor knew first-hand the supernatural strength the immortal possessed. The guards fell away as their leader took the prisoner. They were no more than an arm's length away from Conor when Longinus let go of her wrists. Seizing the opportunity, Catlin almost broke free. Longinus brought both of his hands to her throat and slowly, painfully began to choke her.

"No!" Conor yelled. "Stop this! It's me you're after."

The only response was the Roman's haunting laughter. Catlin's arms went instinctively to her neck, trying to pry the hands apart. Her eyes began to loose focus as she succumbed to the inky darkness closing in on her. At the last instant, her arms reached out and touched Conor's face, lingering for a precious moment, then fell away as she collapsed. Longinus let go of her and she fell to the ground, limp and lifeless.

As quickly as the guards had set upon them, they disappeared leaving Conor to pull her up into his arms. He gently rocked her back and forth, refusing to believe she was dead. Trailing his fingers across her cheek he whispered desolate apologies.

A glimmer of white teased the corner of his eyes. He glanced up, his tear- streaked face finding a vision he did not fully believe. It was Claire. White light bathed her and she seemed to simply hover in the air. She was as translucent as water, but her presence filled the night.

"Let her go, Conor," the apparition spoke.

"...Claire - what... why are you here?" he managed.

"She's gone... she's gone, like I am."

"No..." he sobbed, rocking Catlin in his arms.

"You failed us both," the ghostly Claire said, without malice. "Now let her go."

Conor clung tightly to Catlin's body.

"Please, Claire..." he begged as the spirit drew nearer. "Please..."

Conor no longer controlled his arms. Inexplicably they let go of Catlin. Claire picked her up as if she was a child and started back into the woods.

"Claire, come back!" he yelled, unable to move. "Claire!"

But it was too late. Cradling Catlin, she vanished into the mist.


	7. Mistaken Dream

In the early dawn hours Tully found the land most at peace. He would often times trek out beyond the Sanctuary's defenses. It was a habit that everyone, especially Fergus, disapproved of. Sometimes, though, he needed to be alone. He always felt closer to Galen in these woods. He could almost feel the druid's presence, like a cloak around their home. It was here that he practiced his magic, or what little he knew. Early morning dew blanketed the grass and shrubs and a slight chill hung in the air. Knowing the Romans were looking for them, he kept a close watch and secluded himself up in a full oak that stood within a thick grove.

He heard the noise first, and crept further back towards the trunk of the tree to hide and watch. With a crash, a figure emerged from the brush. Her long cloak was torn by branches and as she glanced over her shoulder her hood swept back to reveal a flowing mane of brown hair. She abruptly stopped, looked around momentarily and headed toward the tree in which Tully was hiding. Jumping up to swing from the lowest branch, she nimbly pulled herself up, much in the same way he had just done minutes before. Clamoring up the tree she almost fell when she saw Tully. He put his finger to his lips eliciting a smile.

Tully studied her face. She looked to be about his age. Her fair cheeks were spotted with freckles and her face was rosy from her run. Large inquisitive eyes gazed back at him, the color of the sky. Her hair was pulled back in haphazard braids by small pieces of leather. Turning his attention back to the ground, he looked in the direction she had emerged from, waiting for her pursuers. They did not come.

* * *

From her perch, Catlin had a clear view of the surrounding woods. Ever vigilant, she kept looking for signs of danger. Several paces below her Conor slept. He seemed to be dreaming, by the movements he made. Chuckling softly, she walked down toward him. He was about to kick over the kettle of stew... meatless stew he had prepared the night before, while she was fast asleep.

"No..." he spoke, from within his slumber.

Catlin stopped for a moment, afraid to wake him from, his trance-like dream. Kneeling down beside him she watched him. He was breathing heavily and sobs began to emerge from his lips.

"Please, Claire... Please..."

Catlin almost heard the shudder her heart made. Only yesterday she had the slightest hope that he cared for her. Again she chided herself for belief in things that could never be. He was still in anguish over Claire. He was still longing to be with her.

"Claire, come back! Claire!" he yelled.

Catlin bit back her disappointment and gently shook him... he was startled awake and gasped for air, as if the dream was water and he was drowning in it.

"Conor?" she said softly.

His eyes were red with tears and devastation.

"Catlin?" he questioned in amazement.

"You were dreaming," she said sitting on the edge of his blankets.

"Dreaming?" he said as if he couldn't quite believe it.

"Yes... about Claire," she hid the pain in her voice.

"Claire?"

"You called out her name..." She paused momentarily, then looked him deeply in the eyes. "This is what's been bothering you... isn't it?"

Breath caught in his throat. Did she know about the dreams? Did she know they were full of her death?

"Conor... I want you to forgive yourself..."

"Cat, I can't talk about this right now," he said starting to get up.

Taking his arm she pulled him back down to the ground.

"We need to talk about this," she said forcefully, though her heart wanted nothing to do with the conversation they were about to embark upon.

Fearing she might look into his eyes and read his mind, Conor tried to shift his gaze away from her.

"Conor," her voice was merely a whisper. "I know what it's like to feel responsible for the death of someone you love."

His heart pounded. How could she possibly know what his dreams entailed?

"You helped me," she continued. "You made me realize that my sister's death was not my fault."

"You don't understand, Catlin. It _is_ my fault," he said taking her arms.

How could she have known? Yet she was still calm. She was still more concerned for him than for her own life.

"Conor, listen to me... Claire's death was not your fault."

"Claire?"

"I heard you cry her name in your sleep," she said softly, desperately trying to control the tremble in her voice. "You didn't kill her... Gar did."

Leaning back on his hands, Conor realized she didn't know what the dreams were about. Hearing him call out Claire's name, Catlin had mistakenly believed that it was Claire's death, not her own, that racked his dreams. Seizing the opportunity, he played along.

"I know... I know he did..." Conor got up and began to tie up his pack. "I'm going to go wash up..." he said quietly heading for the shallow waters of the nearby stream.

She caught him by the arm gently.

"Conor?"

Turning to look at her, he smiled.

"Please don't hold things in... You can trust me, ok?" she smiled, hugging him tightly.

Feeling her warm skin beneath his hands as he held her, he finally shook off the last of the dream. For the moment she was alive and safe. The portents of the dream could be escaped. He just had to figure out how.

"Thanks, Cat," he whispered, kissing her hair.

Letting her go he turned and headed to the brisk water.

Watching him leave, tears pooled up in her eyes. She fought futilely to keep them from spilling over. The grief of love's chance lost hit her in the stomach. She turned quickly and walked to a secluded spot, away from his view. Tears slid silently down her cheeks.

"Stop it!" she chided herself. "You're being a fool..."

Yet she couldn't help from feeling desolate. It wasn't until that moment that she realized how deeply she felt for him... and how deeply he still felt for Claire. Roughly wiping the tears from her face she made a silent resolution.

"I will move on..."

* * *

Tully and the stranger clung to the tree for what seemed like an eternity. Who was she hiding from? After a long silence she finally spoke.

"I must have lost them," she sighed.

Tully was intoxicated by the sound of her voice. Tones as bright as a harp, yet not abrasive. Mellow as a low wind, but not sad.

"My name is Tully," he finally managed.

"I'm Aiobhell," she smiled. "Now... where shall we go?"

"Down, I suppose," he smiled.


	8. Happiness Shattered

By mid-afternoon, the effects of Conor's inability to sleep wore dark circles under his eyes. Catlin could see he was not doing well.

"Do you want to stop and rest?" she suggested.

"No," he answered crankily.

"No need to bite my head off," she rolled her eyes.

Stopping his horse, he turned to face her.

"Do you have a problem with the way I'm doing things?" he challenged.

Again defiant anger sparked in her face.

"No... not at all," she said knowing the words rang hollow.

_I have moved on!_ she thought.

"Fine," he said abruptly.

They continued on in silence. Conor knew he was behaving like a child, but he lacked the energy to brighten his disposition.

Catlin turned to singing bits of songs. Some were tunes that Conor knew well. Some were improvisational creations of her mind. Others were unfamiliar Roman tunes. The gentle song of her voice and the sway of the horse beneath him lulled him practically to sleep. It was when he nearly fell off his horse, that he realized Catlin was right.

"Cat?"

"Um-hmm?" she said without interest.

"Let's stop for a moment."

Without waiting for a comment he jumped down off his horse and tied the steed to a tree. Pulling his cloak tightly around himself he found a patch of sunlight and stretched out to rest.

"I'll keep watch," she smiled.

"Maybe..." he yawned, "Maybe you could keep singing."

"Oh..." she laughed. "All right. I will... Only if you admit that I was right."

"Mmm-hmm."

"I guess that's as good as I'm going to get..."

"...Mmm-hmm."

She began to sing watching as Conor drifted off to sleep. No matter what they said to one another, they could never stay angry with one another for long. Once she had accidentally embarrassed him in front of the Confederation Council. He claimed he would never forgive her and had berated her for making him look foolish. Yet, later that day he had come to her room with Declan, a boy of about eight. Sending the boy in ahead, Conor yelled in from outside the door.

"You wouldn't hurt me when there are children around?"

He entered the room and picked up the boy, who was giggling. Catlin smiled at the memory. Conor could be so charming. It was easy to understand why she felt the way she did about him. Most likely, every woman he had ever met had been under his spell. But it wasn't just that. The friendship they had was built on mutual trust and experience. Sharing the loss of everything they had and rebuilding a future that neither could have ever foreseen, they had come to rely on each other. She watched him sleep peacefully. Slowly, his jaw dropped and shallow snoring escaped his mouth. Perhaps there would be no more dreams. Perhaps his sleep would be filled with no more painful memories. At times she wondered how God could see fit to plague one man with so many burdens. If she could, she would sacrifice anything, even herself, to lessen the weight he had to carry on his shoulders.

An hour later, Conor awoke. For the first time in two days he had slept without dreaming. He felt refreshed and quite rested. Catlin smiled at him.

* * *

Fergus frowned at Tully. "Sweet Brigit, lad, you should know better by now," he gestured to Aiobhell who was leaning against a tree a short distance away.

"She needed help. Galen always taught us to help others. That's why we're here."

"But she could be a Roman spy."

"Fergus, you're mad... Like I already said, she was running away from them when she climbed up into that tree," Tully insisted.

"Did you ever get a look at them?" The big man asked plainly.

"Well, I, er..." Tully stammered.

Fergus looked at him sideways, his eyebrows arching.

"No... I guess I didn't," Tully finished lamely.

"Well, she's already here... Just keep a close eye on her, alright?"

Tully nodded and quickly walked back over to where the girl was standing.

"It's alright, Aiobhell. You can stay."

She turned and smiled at him. "It's so beautiful here. It truly is a sanctuary."

Tully took her arm, "Come on. Let me show you where you'll sleep."

She stopped him and looked at him with a grateful expression.

"Tully, I can't thank you enough. You don't know what this means to me..."

"You needed help... anyone would have done the same."

"No," she shook her head, "they wouldn't... You have a good heart, Tully. Thank you." She kissed him lightly on the cheek.

He couldn't help a silly grin from lighting his face.

Fergus watched them from a distance. When the girl leaned in and kissed Tully, Fergus knew that the boy would be of no use when it came to judging Aiobhell's character. He rolled his eyes, shook his head and trudged off, sighing.

"Sweet Brigit... they've all gone daft."

* * *

Conor watched Catlin sleep under the moonlight. Occasionally, she would shift or move. Slight murmurs would escape her lips. Conor wondered what it was that filled her dreams at night. He wished that they would be happy dreams, not nightmares of her past. For as much as they had shared with each other, Catlin was very guarded about her life as a slave. She rarely spoke of it, and when she did, she spoke in generalities. It was as if she was afraid or ashamed to speak of those days. Perhaps she worried that it may somehow have a hold on her if she were to form the words. Maybe it was just still too painful. He crossed over to where she was sleeping and gently stroked her hair. Her shifting and quiet mumblings stopped and she sighed in her sleep.

Walking back to his post, Conor gazed into the pitch darkness. Something was out there. Something was clouding over their journey. Every night his dreams had worsened, and every night he was more and more sure that the threat was real.

* * *

"So, where are you from, Lass?" Fergus asked Aiobhell from across the fire.

"Craig Laith, near Cill Dalua. It's a very small place." She smiled at the warrior.

"Aye, I know that place... on the River, is it?"

"Yes... it's quite beautiful there... but I couldn't stay."

A sadness crept into her voice and she focused her gaze at the heart of the fire. Tully, feeling protective of her, addressed Fergus.

"She left her village. The other villagers thought she was a sídhe. They were afraid she would bring them misfortune. Can you imagine?" Tully had taken up the girl's plight. "Now she's like us..."

"How did you manage to get into trouble with the Romans?" Fergus questioned.

Aiobhell's gaze focused on Fergus' eyes. There was something about her stare that made him feel naked. It was as if she could see into his very soul.

"A group of soldiers followed me at a distance. When I stopped for the night..." her voice faltered slightly, "...they attacked me." Her stare refocused on the fire between them. "I got away."

A stony moment of silence followed. Tully searched his mind for something to say to erase the pall of tension that fell over the crisp night.

"It's late... Aiobhell, why don't I walk you back..." he offered rather quietly.

"Thank you Tully," she smiled at him then turned her attention to the big warrior.

"Fergus, I know you don't believe I am who I say I am... I hope that someday I can gain your trust."

She walked over to where the warrior sat and clasped his shoulder.

"Thank you for allowing me to stay."

Her face showed true gratitude, and Fergus found it hard to think he suspected her.

"Sleep well," he called after her as she and Tully walked off into the darkness.

* * *

As Conor opened his eyes, he hardly believed what they saw. Flower garlands hung from the old rafters. It was the great hall of his father's stead. But how? The smell of the wedding feast roasting over the pit lingered in his nose. He heard musicians entering the hall joyfully playing their tunes. A gentle hand touched his shoulder. He spun around.

"Father?" his unbelieving voice questioned, cracking.

King Derek stood before him, alive, smiling. His father.

"Conor," his familiar voice rang in the prince's ears. "We've been given another chance. Another chance to do things right."

Conor looked down at the clothes he was wearing: a new dark blue tunic. Around his shoulders hung a new cloak with his father's pin at the closure. His hands ran over the fabric on his arms, his senses not believing the feel.

"How?" he barely managed.

Derek smiled at his younger son. "We'll talk about it later."

He placed an arm around his son's shoulders.

"Now, it's time," the King gestured behind Conor.

As he spun around, again his mind had trouble registering what he saw.

"Galen?"

The druid winked at him and spoke in low tones.

"You've done good work Conor. I'm proud of you, boy."

His chest seemed barely able to contain the pounding of his heart. It was all real. He could see, touch, smell and hear things that had long ago been destroyed. He heard the sounds of people behind him. He looked over his shoulder at the familiar faces, all long dead. They smiled at him and murmured as the door in the back of the hall opened. Fergus stepped through it, trailing his hand to help someone else inside. Suddenly, Tully elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

"It's bad luck," he grinned as Conor turned back to face his friend.

How had he not known that Tully was right next to him? Conor kept his eyes forward on Galen's smiling visage.

He heard the big ox approaching as softly as he could. He sensed that his friend was right behind him and he heard the man whisper, "I'm honored you chose me to do this, girl."

Conor turned to face the girl. It was Catlin. She smiled warmly at him and took his hands. A small crown of flowers circled her head and her hair was brushed straight. She wore a simple gown.

Galen spoke the ancient words of the ceremony. Catlin's eyes never left Conor's. Conor was overwhelmed with emotion; his brain tried desperately to make sense of it all. His mother, father, and brother were all at his side. The people of his village were all there. The past had become this bizarre present. Parts that had been taken away from him had been returned. Then, along side of them were Tully and Catlin: both people who had not come into his life until after the devastating bloodshed and fire that separated his former existence with his new one.

In this dreamlike state, Conor took in every detail. In his heart he knew that this couldn't last. But, every part of his being wanted, desperately wanted, to believe in this reality.

As the druid finished speaking, Derek turned to face his younger son. "I'm proud of you. Of the man you've become, of the leader you've become..." He took his son's hand and his new daughter's.

"This marriage will be celebrated!"

The words rang like a hollow bell in Conor's head. A memory. A foretelling that perhaps this happiness couldn't last. He pulled Catlin toward him and kissed her. Her skin smelled vaguely of flowers. Her lips tasted sweet. Their embrace was halted by Fergus and Tully greeting them with congratulations and laughter.

They danced and celebrated through the night. The King and Queen rested away from the crowd. Fergus danced with a barrel of ale and disappeared. The fine mist of fear began to grow thicker in Conor's mind. As he felt the happy tableau ending, he tried desperately to take it all in. Catlin speaking with his mother and father. They, in turn, showing affection and welcoming her into his family. It was all he'd ever wanted.

In a lightening fast moment riders broke through the doorway. One approached the King and Queen and removed his helmet.

"GAR!" Derek screamed as Gar slashed him down with his sword.

"FATHER!"

Conor ran toward him but it was too late. Once Gar had slain his father, he took the sword to his mother.

"NOOOO!" Conor yelled.

He nearly reached Gar when another sound caught his attention over the screams and horror that filled the room. It was Catlin's muffled shout. Conor spun around.

Longinus stood amidst the carnage. Tully had reached him, but Longinus had stabbed the lad in the heart. He slumped lifelessly to the floor.

"No... no..." It was barely more than a whisper.

Sorrow and desolation choked his voice. Longinus held Catlin's arms with his left hand. His right covered her mouth. Her eyes were glazed over with fear and sadness.

"Longinus, please... please," Conor begged.

The undead monster smiled.

"I recall saying the same thing to you, Prince... I begged you, I begged you to end my suffering. You had the power to end my curse. Instead you walked away..."

He brought a knife to Catlin's throat. Short, shallow breaths shuddered from her gut.

"Longinus, don't do this. Take your revenge on me," he pleaded.

"I am..."

In an agonizing endless moment, Longinus pulled the blade across her skin. Ruby droplets stained her pale gown. The look on her face became foggy and she slowly collapsed. Longinus disappeared, as did Gar and his men. The smell of death stifled the air and tears flowed down Conor's cheeks. In the distance he could hear the crackling of a fire beginning and could smell the smoldering wood. He pulled Tully and Catlin to him, an arm around each one, and he sobbed over them.


	9. Memories And Misunderstandings

"Conor?"

Again, it was morning. He had tried not to sleep that night, but he had succumbed to his fatigue. Catlin could not hide her worried expression, but pretended she hadn't noticed anything was wrong. Conor's heart was racing, he felt as if it would break through his chest. Death and the smell of smoke still pricked his nose.

"I made you some breakfast, but don't get used to it," she smiled.

A half-grin played on his face and he felt slightly better.

"Thank you."

It was a statement with a great deal of meaning. He wasn't used to keeping secrets from her. She wasn't used to it either. However, she understood that he needed to keep this to himself. Catlin thought that he was reliving guilt of Claire's death. It made sense that he would keep that private. She'd never really known Claire. To Catlin, Claire had always been a princess. A princess whose father had owned Catlin. Conor winced. He hoped that someday, when this was all behind them, he could make it up to Cat.

"We'll have plenty of time, if you'd like to stop for a short rest midday," she suggested.

"Good," he said standing up.

* * *

She awoke early. She had never needed much sleep. Thinking of Longinus, she smiled. Power had always been attractive to her, and what was more powerful than immortality? She had taken the first step, and she knew that her task would be fulfilled. She had convinced one person, he was the easy one. However, the others would be more difficult. Smiling in the morning darkness, she prepared her role for the day: demure, smiling, gracious. Why was it men always seemed to fall for that? The anticipation was palpable. She was indeed her Master's servant.

* * *

The last day of their journey was under a mournful sky. It seemed as if there was something gloomy in the air. A light drizzle continued on. Even Catlin was tired.

"Conor, do you want to stop?" she yawned.

He had been silent and moody all day. Catlin wanted nothing more than to shake him and scream at him, _What is wrong! Why won't you tell me!_ Yet, she restrained herself and tried to concentrate on other things.

"Yes. If we stop now, we'll still be able to approach the village before nightfall."

They settled on a secluded spot with a small hill that provided a good lookout point. No words were exchanged by the two, they simply took their places. Conor rested by the horses and Catlin took watch.

Within moments, deep exhalations emerged from his slumber. It was a peaceful, relaxed sound. The sound of someone who was not dreaming - for now. Catlin tried not to think about the content of his dreams, but she couldn't help it. Watching his face she tried to rid her mind of what she knew she could not. It had always been Claire, and it would always be so. She remembered the princess. She was never mean or rude to the slaves in Gar's fortress. Catlin could sense the unease whenever the girl would have need of help. The day before Catlin escaped, Claire found her washing Diana's clothing.

"_Excuse me," Claire asked shyly._

_Catlin had practically knocked over the wash bucket she was using. For a moment she was silent, then paid the girl her mandatory respect._

"_Yes?" she said, curtsying low and nodding her head._

_Claire looked to her and away from her uneasily._

"_Could you help me wash this?" _

_The princess produced a beautiful white gown from her sack. The gown was simple, yet elegant. It was obviously the girl's favorite. _

"_It's dirty and I must wear it tomorrow night... it's a special night."_

_She was taken aback by the way the girl had requested the dress washed. Usually, some other slave or servant would bring the garment from inside the living quarters. Princesses usually didn't carry their own laundry._

"_Here," Catlin reached out for the sack. "I will have it ready for you."_

"_No, no..." she stammered back, "I don't want to be any trouble. I can see you have much to do..." she gestured with obvious disgust at Diana's many garments which were strewn about the little room. _

_Smiling at Catlin she leaned close, like a child with a secret._

"_I will do it myself... I just need you to show me how!"_

_Uneasiness spread across Catlin's face. _

"_If someone were to see you... I... I would get in trouble. It is better if I do it for you."_

_Disappointment and a melancholy look came into the girl's eyes. _

"_Of course... of course." _

_Sighing, she handed the bag over to Catlin. Walking out of the room, Claire called back softly, _

"_Thank you..." She hesitated for a moment then asked, "What's your name?"_

"_Catlin." _

_It sounded almost more of a question. Who ever asked a slave-girl's name?_

"_Are you sure?" Claire chuckled good-naturedly._

"_Yes," Catlin smiled._

"_Good... it's a very pretty name, it suits you."_

In a moment of self-doubt she compared herself to Claire. Conor had loved her so dearly that he was ready to die for her. And Claire had loved him enough to die to protect him. It was tragic. Both were born to privilege and should have had every opportunity to be happy. Now, she was gone and Conor could not rid himself of the guilt of her death.

A slight rustling of trees rushed her out of her thoughts. Grabbing her bow and slipping an arrow to the ready her eyes peered in the direction of the disturbance. Silently, she side stepped over to Conor's sleeping form and crouched down beside him. Lowering her defenses for a moment, she shook him and quickly placed a hand over his mouth. Stunned eyes looked up at her, then realization took hold as she gestured towards the woods with a nod of her head. Regaining her stance she waited for another sign of movement.

Conor was alert in a single moment. Noiselessly he stood and quietly withdrew his sword, the metallic slither a quiet whisper in the trees. Back to back the friends stood, waiting for the attack.

When it came, it was not so much an attack, as a warning. Ten men stood facing Catlin's side of the clearing. All were armed and had their swords ready. In the midst of them stood a striking man with black hair and green eyes. Smiling at them his voice filled the air with authority.

"And what do we have here?"

There was no mistaking the fact that he was in charge.

"Just passing through," Catlin responded as nonchalantly as she could, considering the circumstances.

Her bow was still taunt and ready to strike. Protectively, Conor stepped out in front of her, putting himself between her and the small group. Tentative aggression hung in the air.

"Just passing through, are you?" the leader asked, a hint of sarcasm tainting his voice.

His men laughed.

"Is there a problem?" Conor's voice said evenly.

He held one arm out behind him, trying to hold Catlin behind him.

"Tell the girl to drop her weapon," he said simply.

Catlin stepped out from behind Conor, placing herself between him and the soldiers.

"Forgive me, but I won't do that until you lower your weapons. As you can plainly see, we're outnumbered, so there's no need for you to fear us... however, we have considerable reason to be wary of you."

"Perhaps you should tell that girl not to play with toys," one of the rougher men laughed. An ugly scar ran from his left temple to his chin. "She may end up hurting someone..."

Conor watched as Catlin's muscles tensed. This time he lowered his sword long enough to grab Catlin around the waist. In one swift movement he pulled her back and gently pushed her behind himself. Surprised, she lost her footing and unceremoniously fell down.

"You'll have to excuse her, she can be a bit headstrong," Conor chuckled.

The men, except for the leader, laughed heartily. White-hot rage was rising off Catlin, and Conor knew he would have some explaining to do.

The dark haired leader spoke, "Now may I ask you what you are doing here? These are Ian's lands."

A lecherous gaze came from the rough man as Catlin got up. Without stopping to brush herself off, Catlin again held her bow poised to strike. She stepped away from Conor.

"Like the girl said. We're just passing through," Conor emulated Catlin's easy tone.

The man with the scar smiled and started toward Catlin. "Would you like some help there, girl?"

Catlin loosed the arrow. It hit a tree no more than a finger's width from the man's face. He stopped dead in his tracks. In a swift movement, Catlin carefully readied another arrow.

"I said, stay back. Next time I'll pierce your feeble brain...or maybe something else," she glowered lowering her aim quite a bit.

"Why you little..."

"Colin!" the leader ordered, "That's enough!"

Like a scolded dog, Colin retreated to where the other men stood, but his eyes never left Catlin.

The leader continued, "Be careful of the Romans. We've caught word they may be entering these lands."

"Thank you for the warning," Conor nodded.

"Safe journey," the leader smiled, "though it looks like you have all the protection you need," he nodded respectfully to Catlin.

The band of men retreated into the woods. Catlin kept them in her sights for several minutes before lowering her guard. Conor watched her from a distance, he was angry with her for taking such a stance, for putting herself at risk. However, he knew she was probably angrier than he was.

Lowering her weapon, Catlin turned to Conor. Calmly dusting herself off, her voice was extremely quiet.

"What were you doing?" her jaw set stubbornly and her eyes were wide and questioning.

"Catlin," Conor started, equally angry, "you had no right to attack that man. If we are going to try to get these people to join the Confederation-"

"Those were Ian's men? Why didn't you tell me!"

"There wasn't an opportunity," he smiled sarcastically. "And while we're on the subject, why did you have to put yourself at risk and make me look like a coward?"

"My job is to protect you... Let's not even get on the subject how you made me look." Her voice was no longer quiet. She was yelling at him.

"Ian's tribe is a bit more..." he searched for the word. "They just don't treat women the same way we do. The women in their tribe do not fight... I was only trying to get them to accept us."

"By making me seem like your slave?"

Conor winced as if the word had slapped him. His time in the Sanctuary had taught him that others must always be treated as equals. In his new home there were no princes and slaves. There were only people. Sometimes he forgot how close those times were for Catlin. She had spent the majority of her life as the property of others. She had only recently been able to see the kindness in people, which she now embraced so freely.

A heavy silence hung in the air between them. Even saying the word 'slave' had hurt Catlin. Even in her rage she knew that Conor never saw her as that. However, she had been a slave in Claire's house. While Claire never treated the slaves in her father's house poorly, it didn't negate the fact that Catlin had been her property. Catlin didn't blame her for it, after all, the girl had been raised a princess. But somehow, even now, it still pained her. The woman Conor had loved; still loved, had owned her. As it so often did, her pain turned to anger. Rage filled her. She was so angry she couldn't say anything. Reaching back, she punched Conor in the chin. Reeling from the blow, Conor staggered backward and rubbed his jaw with his hand.

"What did you do that for?"

Without saying a word she turned on her heel and walked toward the horses. Conor grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her.

"Catlin, I'm just concerned with your safety. Why can't you see that?" he said an inch away from her face. He had rarely seen her stare so intense.

"Let go of me." It was a quiet demand.

"Not until you agree to be more careful."

"Damn it, Conor!" she broke free of his grasp and pushed him away, solidly in the chest.

Turning away from him she started back to the horses. Again, his hands were at her arms, restraining her.

"Catlin, no! You can't go off alone!"

Wrenching her right arm free she spun around and punched him again, landing another solid hit in jaw. Caught off guard, he lost his balance and fell to the ground. Catlin stood above him for a moment shaking her head.

"I can take care of myself," she said in a low voice.

In a swift movement, he tripped her. She fell to the ground, and in an instant he was atop her, pining her arms at either side of her head.

"I know you can take care of yourself," he said slowly, deliberately. "But there's no need for you to be taking foolish risks."

He stared at her in silence, their faces no more than an inch apart. Catlin's eyes were alight with defiance and anger. Conor had never seen her so upset.

"Conor," she said with a heavy sigh. "Why don't you realize that I am just trying to do what's right. You are the leader. I'm just another fighter... If I were Fergus or Tully, this wouldn't even be an issue."

As she spoke, she could feel her heart beating wildly. Feeling the weight of his body against her's was too difficult. He was so close to her, yet, she knew that they were miles apart. She closed her eyes for a moment and pressed her lips together. The leather from his tunic and the raw smell of him mingled in her nose. When she opened her eyes again, it seemed as if he was impossibly closer than before. She felt lost in his gaze.

"I know you feel obligated to protect me. I know you have from the beginning... But I don't need you to save me anymore."

The words pierced his soul. It was so obvious to him now that she did not feel the love he felt for her. His eyes darkened as his whole being cried out. She was warm, beneath his skin, and she felt nothing but contempt for him. He so wanted to kiss her. He wanted to taste her lips- to feel her breath against his ear. He wanted to always protect her, to love her, to save her.

"I'm sorry, Cat. I really am... I'll... give you a little distance."

Taking one last lingering gaze into her eyes, he let go of her wrists and rolled off of her. Without a word he walked toward the horses and began to get them ready for the final part of the trip.

Pulling herself up, Catlin could sense the wall that now separated them. Nothing, nothing could ever be the same between them again. She now knew how he had always seen her: as someone to be rescued. Small glimpses into his eyes had once told her that he may have loved her. Now she knew those small signs to be traitors. What she had mistaken for love was duty, pity. Tears tried to form, but she had no emotion left for them. Silently, she walked towards her horse.


	10. Ian

When Fergus arrived in the clearing, he found Aiobhell hard at work. She was chopping wood, of all things. The girl's brow was wrinkled in concentration and beads of sweat were beginning to form on her flushed face.

"Need a hand there, lass?" Fergus smiled as he walked up to her.

He was indeed finding it harder and harder not to trust the girl.

"Good morning, Fergus," she smiled broadly. "No, thank you, I'm fine."

Her small arms lifted the heavy axe and awkwardly swung the blade down, cutting into the wood. The next time she hoisted the tool, Fergus caught the axe by the handle and gently took it from her.

"No, I insist," he winked.

She stepped aside and the big man made fast work of the large branch.

Tully watched from a distance. Fergus, as usual, showing off. He laughed audibly and shook his head. As his gaze wandered to Aiobhell, he smiled again. He was happy that Fergus was beginning to see that she was no threat to them. There were just certain things that you knew in your heart to be true. This was one of them. Still, there was something strange about the beautiful girl. Something he couldn't place. Perhaps he was taken with her. Maybe that's what he was sensing.

"Tully!" Fergus yelled over to his friend. "Are you going to do any work today, lad? Any at all?"

Tully walked over to them. Aiobhell was laughing and patting Fergus on the back. It seemed the uneasiness between them had vanished.

* * *

"Guard!" Diana beckoned. The obedient soldier pushed through the door to her chamber.

"Yes, my Queen?" His eyes looked at her hesitantly.

"Antonius, is it?" she smiled.

He was the same guard from the previous several evenings. It was obvious she had complete control over him. She had finally bothered to learn his name.

"Yes, my Queen," he replied.

Diana cocked her head to the side and smiled at him. She walked over to him and took him by the arm to her bed.

"Please," she smiled, gesturing for him to sit.

Antonius did as he was told. He always did. Regardless, the events of the last several days had been too much for him to understand; not that he was complaining about his new role as the Queen's 'personal guard.'

Diana opened a drawer in her bureau and pulled out a piece of parchment. Lithely, she sauntered back to the bed and lay across it, facing Antonius. She waved the paper back and forth under his nose.

"Do you know what this is?" she said.

It was a rhetorical question. His blank stare urged her to continue.

"Well," she said, unrolling the paper, "let's read it, shall we?"

She looked at the dumbfounded guard and pursed her lips as she read the contents of the letter.

"'_My Lord Longinus. The plan is going well. I await any further instructions you may have. Your obedient servant.'" _

There was no signature, just a design of Celtic origin that Diana could not place.

"My Queen, perhaps you could discuss this matter with Longinus..."

Antonius was obviously not the smartest soldier in their legion.

Diana drew closer to him and ran her finger from his forehead to the tip of his nose.

"Antonius," she said as if addressing a child, "Longinus cannot be bothered with such things. I think it's best if we figure this out on our own."

She lightly kissed his nose and laughed.

"Yes, of course, my Queen."

"Now," again, her hand wandered across his face and down to his chest, "I need you to listen and watch. If you see anyone delivering papers to Longinus, I want you to find out who they are and where they come from... But of course, Longinus can never know."

"Yes, my Queen."

His eyes smoldered with desire for the dark haired beauty. She pushed him onto his back and sat across him.

"Good... It's nice to know we have such _capable_ soldiers in our ranks."

She leaned in and kissed him deeply, then rolled off of him.

"Now, leave me," she purred.

Antonius did as he was told.

* * *

They arrived at the village center just as the sun was beginning to set. Guards had been following them for several hours. Ian had his lands well defended, there was no doubt about that. Hopefully, he was as willing to use his power to unite against the Romans.

Conor and Catlin dismounted their horses and tied them to a nearby tree. Void of their weapons, they walked towards the dark haired man they had met earlier in the woods. Earlier they had stopped to clean up. Conor was wearing a cloak pin that had been a gift from Ian's grandfather to Conor's grandfather. Catlin had simply washed up. As per the village's custom, she walked behind Conor, but disobeyed the law to keep her eyes downcast. She stared defiantly at all the townspeople who whispered as she passed. The man smiled at them both and stretched out a welcome hand to Conor.

"You are Derek's son?" he smiled good-naturedly.

"Yes. I'm Conor."

The man clasped Conor's arm and smiled at him.

"We respected your father, Conor. I was sorry to hear about his death at the hands of Gar and his Roman butchers."

"Thank you," he nodded.

The man turned to Catlin. Small gasps rose from the crowd as he put his hand out to her.

"My name is Ian... you are welcome in my village."

"I'm Catlin," she said as she extended her hand to him.

He took it and kissed it.

"You are an excellent archer, Catlin. While you are here, I think perhaps you could teach my men a few things," he said in a low voice.

He winked at her. Catlin couldn't suppress a smile from lighting her face.

The leader turned his attention back to Conor.

"To what do I owe this visit?"

"I've come as a member of the Confederation of Tribes. We have united against the Romans, and we have come to ask you to join us."

"I have heard of the great Confederation. I'm glad you've come. There will be much to discuss, but that will wait until morning. There is a festival tonight, and I wish you both to attend."

As he said this, a beautiful girl with hair and eyes matching the leader stepped forward and took Catlin's hand.

"I'm Aisling, Ian's sister," she said in a shy voice. "I'll show you to your quarters."

She giggled and whispered to Catlin, "I've never seen a woman in clothing like yours... my brother says you are a warrior. Is that true?"

Her green eyes danced at the thought.

Catlin smiled at her, "Yes it is."

She glanced at the other women as they passed. All were wearing long modest dresses of soft colouring. It must have been shocking to them to see such a bold confident woman walk into the village and speak as equals with the men.

"If you'd like, I can teach you to shoot an arrow."

"Really?" Aisling stared at her in disbelief. "I don't think my brother would approve."

"He doesn't have to know," Catlin said conspiratorially.

This happy place might be just what she needed to rid her mind of the worrying thoughts of Conor.

Ian and Conor followed the women to three large huts at the center of the walled village. Ian showed Conor to one and bid him adieu. Conor sat on the chair in the corner of the cozy quarters. Inky darkness began to creep into the room as he tried to push the thoughts of his argument with Catlin out of his weary head. Now that she was angry with him, it would be impossible to keep close enough to her to protect her. He would apologize. As much as her words had hurt him, he would take the blame. If she would let him back in he would keep watch from a short distance. He walked back out to the chilly night air and pulled his cloak tightly around him.

* * *

Catlin sat in her hut waiting for Aisling to return. The other woman seemed younger than Catlin, but in truth she was several years older. Aisling had gone to fetch a dress for Catlin to wear, insisting she would be the most beautiful one at the festival. In a pained moment, Catlin realized that Aisling reminded her of Amalia. Sighing heavily she walked to the door of the hut. She leaned out the door and looked toward the other quarters. Conor was leaning up against a nearby tree staring into the distance. Her heavy heart shuddered at the sight of him and she quickly withdrew into the room. It pained her to see him, knowing the feelings she thought they might have shared were not there. Her reverie was broken by Aisling bursting into the room.

"I found the perfect dress for you!" she said excitedly. "Look, it will match your eyes."

An hour later Ian appeared outside the guests' rooms. A billowing dark emerald cloak hung over his broad shoulders. He clapped Conor heartily on the shoulder.

"We will feast and drink and dance tonight!" he smiled. "Already many of the ladies have asked about you. It seems you'll have no lack of company tonight!" he laughed at the somber faced Conor.

"What is the occasion?" Conor asked.

"It is our yearly festival... The older townsfolk think it's high time I got married, so they intend to help me pick out a bride," Ian said a bit remorsefully.

Conor smiled at this, remembering his arranged marriage with Molly and how uncomfortable it makes one feel to be betrothed to someone they do not love.

"It sounds like you could use some ale," Conor laughed.

"Perhaps..." Ian stepped away from Conor, "Will you excuse me? I'll be right back."

Without waiting for a reply he walked off toward a sentry standing in the clearing.

Conor turned his attention back to Catlin's door. The dark haired Aisling stepped out into the starlit night. Behind her followed Catlin. Conor's breath stopped in his throat. Catlin walked over to him as Aisling ran to her brother.

The dress was of blue fabric and accented every curve of her body. Catlin's long hair had been brushed out until it reflected the moonlight. Blue ribbons weaved in and out of her hair like waves on a sandy beach. She was beautiful.

"Sweet Brigit," he said softly.

"I look ridiculous, don't I," she said, slightly tugging at the neckline of the dress.

"Cat, you look - "Before Conor could break through the wall between them with words of adoration, Ian stepped up swiftly.

"Catlin, you look exquisite. I've never seen such beauty," Ian said sincerely.

Blushing at the compliment, she smiled at him, "Thank you."

"Come with me," he said taking her hand, "Let us lead off the dancing."

"Ian, I'm... I've never really... danced," she admitted.

"Well I'm sure someone as precise as you are with a bow and arrow would be equally as agile on her feet."

With that he took her hand and they ran off. Conor forlornly watched them leave.

Aisling stood by quietly. Her small voice broke through his thoughts.

"Excuse me, my Lord, may I lead you to the dance?"

Conor, who had been completely oblivious of the girl standing beside him, turned to face her. Her eyes were downcast, set at the ground next to his feet.

"Aisling, is it?" he said softly.

"Yes, my Lord," she nodded shyly, never raising her eyes.

"Conor... call me Conor."

He lifted her chin up with his hand. The girl blushed and stammered.

"Shall we go to the dance, C-Conor?"

"Yes," he smiled, "my Lady."

He offered her his arm and they made their way to where the music was playing.

Ian patiently taught Catlin each new step. She laughed cheerily and whirled to the music. The ruler's attention never strayed from her.

"You amaze me," Ian complimented as they sat down to rest in a shadowy corner. "You can fight men single handedly, yet still win their hearts."

Catlin let a wry smile cross her lips. Not quite knowing how to follow that statement, she changed the subject.

"I think I'm making enemies with the women in the village for taking up your time."

She nodded her head to a large group of women and girls who were not very subtly watching every move the leader made.

"Oh, think nothing of that. Before my father died, I was betrothed to one of the girls in the village. After he died I saw no reason to go through with the marriage... I did not love her."

"And that did not go well with her family?"

"No, it certainly did not." He laughed. "My advisors wish me to get married before winter comes. They say I must choose a bride this evening."

Catlin began to stand up, "Then I should go..."

Ian scrambled to his feet and took her arm, "An excellent idea... I shall go too."

Catlin smiled, "Then where are we going?"

"I believe I need archery lessons."

* * *

Conor drank his ale a good distance from where Catlin and Ian were talking. He had tried to dance, to enjoy the evening, but he couldn't help but keep watching Catlin. Her silhouette in the firelight as she and Ian laughed and danced. Many of the village women had wanted to dance with him. Brothers, fathers walked up to him and asked if he would like to dance with their sisters, daughters. Conor politely refused each one. Soon word traveled around the village not to bother with the glum stranger. He sat alone, trying to sort out the jealousy from the concern. Though Ian's family had been allies with Conor's family, he still did not know Ian, or completely trust him.

Aisling approached him demurely. "I apologize for being so forward," she said keeping her eyes to the ground. "But you have not danced a single dance. I was worried that you are not enjoying the evening." Bravely, she looked him in the eyes.

Conor flashed a grin. "It's not that. I think I'm just tired, that's all."

"Oh..." the girl's eyes fell back to the grass.

"Would you like to dance with me?" Conor offered his arm.

"Yes, very much."

Her face lit up and she smiled broadly as he led her to where the music was loudest.

As they walked toward the training grounds, Catlin caught a glimpse of Conor out of the corner of her eye. He was dancing happily with Aisling. The girl had a dewy look on her face that could only mean one thing: she was under his spell. She sighed audibly.

"Is something wrong?" Ian asked.

"No," she smiled, "It's been a long journey."

"Would you rather go and rest?"

"No, no. I'm looking forward to besting you," she laughed. Ian grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the field.

Conor saw them leave. As the music stopped, he took the opportunity to end the dance. "Aisling, thank you for a lovely evening..."

"Of course," she smiled, shyly biting her bottom lip.

"Goodnight," he said kissing her cheek.

Within a moment, he was gone, following Ian and Catlin into the night.

"Goodnight," she nearly gasped.

In the inky darkness, the targets were hard to see, but Catlin still hit the mark with deadly precision.

"Well done," Ian clapped.

"Now, let's see how you do," she challenged.

Ian notched the arrow in the bow and took his aim. He loosed the arrow, which hit the edge of the target, almost a foot away from Catlin's center mark.

"Not bad," she said. "You have good form. It's just your aim that needs work."

"Well..." he was humbled, "Can you show me the proper way to aim?"

"Of course," she readied another arrow and pulled back on the bow. "Come here."

She gestured him toward her right shoulder with her chin. "Can you see how this is lined up?"

He stood a breath away from her.

"Here, take the bow."

Ian placed his left hand on top of hers to take the bow. With his right arm, he reached around Catlin's shoulder to meet her other hand. Together, they shot the arrow. It hit directly next to Catlin's earlier mark.

"Good job," she turned facing him.

Ian dropped the bow and leaned in to kiss her. Catlin pushed him away gently.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he apologized.

"It's alright... I... I should go. Goodnight Ian."

"Goodnight Catlin," he smiled warmly at her.

As she turned and walked away from him, she heard a twig snap ahead. She could barely make out the figure of Conor, walking quickly toward his hut.


	11. New Alliances

Catlin awoke to the sound of shouting. She jumped up and grabbed her sword, heading out the door. The noise was coming from Conor's quarters. She rushed in. He was having another nightmare, thrashing about in his bed and dripping with sweat. She rushed to his side and gently stroked his hair.

"Conor, wake up. Conor..."

She wasn't getting through to him. She spoke louder, "Conor-"

He bolted upright and grabbed her wrists. A dazed look played across his face. His eyes seemed hollow, tortured, somehow. Several short, shallow gasps escaped his throat.

"Conor?" Catlin worriedly questioned.

He let go of her wrists. His grip on them left red marks.

"Conor, I'll be right back. I'm going to get the healer."

"No..." he breathed closing his eyes. "I'm fine."

"What is happening to you?" she questioned, her eyes filling with tears. "Conor you're scaring me. Please tell me..."

"Cat, it's nothing..." he looked away.

"Conor-"

"It's got nothing to do with you."

His voice was cold. He didn't even look her in the eyes.

"I... I was just worried, that's all," she managed.

"You have no need to be," he said quietly. "Please, just leave."

Tears spilled down her cheeks. She got up from his side and ran out of the room.

* * *

Fergus stood at the entrance to the Sanctuary and gazed at the night sky. It was going to be a cold winter, by the look of it. He stretched and looked towards where the night guards were keeping their watch. They nodded respectfully to the leader. Leader. It was hard for him to accept this new, albeit temporary role. Diplomacy had never been his strong suit. Yet with Conor gone, he had to be the one to make decisions. The warrior much preferred settling things with a blade, not with discussion. In battle things were so much clearer.

Now, he was responsible for the lives of everyone in the Sanctuary. Their numbers had grown larger in the year since they had lived there. With numbers, there came more disputes. People from many tribes had sought refuge here. Each with their own traditions and customs. Sometimes, it made it difficult to live side by side. Yet, there was still one thing that had united them all. Each person had been driven out of their home by the Romans. Each person had suffered loss at the hands of the invaders. Even when they seemed to be at odds with each other, in the end, they all knew who the real enemy was.

He walked back towards the center of the village. He found Aiobhell sitting outside her hut near a small fire. She was quietly whispering ancient words. Fergus stood at a distance as to not disturb the girl. She was a tough one to figure out. While he now felt certain they had nothing to fear from her, his curiosity was still not appeased. What had driven her from her land, so far from here? The girl's eyes always had a sadness to them. He knew that look. It was the look he had seen on Conor's face when Conor had found him in the smoldering ruins of his father's keep. It was the look that Catlin's eyes had mirrored when she thought of her sister. It was the look Tully's eyes bore when he recounted what little he still remembered of his family. It was the look of everyone who lived in the Sanctuary. They all had suffered such terrible loss.

He cleared his throat deliberately.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," he began.

"No, not at all," she smiled at him. "Come, sit down," she patted the ground next to her.

Fergus walked over and took a seat next to her.

"You're up awfully early," he nodded at her.

"So are you," she laughed quietly.

"Aye," he smiled.

For awhile, neither spoke, just sat in the stillness of the early morning.

* * *

Catlin sat on a log on the outskirts of the walled village. Tears rolled down her cheeks in steady streams and short sobs shuddered from her gut. She never cried like this, but she couldn't help it. In the year that she had known Conor, she had never seen him like this. His voice had been so cold. He had put up a barrier between them. He had shut her out.

She knew that he wasn't in love with her. She could accept that. But now, now everything was different. Their friendship, which Catlin had always relied on and cherished, lay in shambles and she didn't know why.

"Catlin?"

It was Ian. He had walked up behind her.

"Are you alright?"

There was worry in his voice. He quickly walked around to face her and knelt down directly in front of her. He took her hands in his.

"It can't be as terrible as all that..." he said softly.

His hands went to her face and he gently brushed the tears away from her cheeks.

"I'm fine," she sniffed, trying to smile.

"Liar," he smiled. "Now, do you want to talk about it?"

He moved over to the log and sat down next to her.

"Not really," she said, wiping the remaining tears from her face.

"Sure, sure." He again took her hands in his. "Catlin, I'm sorry about last night."

"Oh, no... There's no need. I just wasn't expecting..."

He smiled, encouraged by the admission.

"I did have a lovely evening... and my marksmanship has improved!" he laughed.

A broad smile spread across her face.

"I'm glad I could help."

He studied her face for several moments. Catlin felt slightly ill at ease with the stare. Blushing slightly, she looked away from the inquiring emerald gaze.

"I should go back..." she said as she got up.

"Let me walk with you," he stood up quickly and offered his arm.

She took his arm and he led her back to the center of the stead. In the quiet early morning, none of the villagers were awake. They walked in silence. From time to time he would look at her and smile.

When they reached her quarters, he stopped and leaned casually against the wall of the little hut.

"He's a damn fool," Ian said softly looking at her intently.

"Oh, it's not that... I mean it's not..." she stammered.

"Just tell me to shut up and mind my own business," he said looking down disappointedly.

She kissed him on the cheek and went inside quickly.

* * *

Longinus stared at the door. He waited patiently. After all, he had nothing but time. The door eventually opened and Diana made her entrance.

"Longinus," she said in honeyed tones.

"I sent for you two hours ago, Diana."

He walked over to where she was standing. She turned her back on him.

"Yes, you did. But you didn't say 'please,'" she said simply, running her fingers through her hair.

He stepped up behind her and kissed her neck.

"Very well, then. Please..." Longinus whispered into her ear.

"That's better," she said turning to face him.

Diana draped her arms around his shoulders.

"Now, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?" she smiled.

"I have to say, Diana. I find your new willingness to comply with my wishes a little... puzzling."

The centurion stroked her back. Why did he still find her so desirable?

"Well, my love. We both want the same thing. It just seems easier... and... more enjoyable... if we work together," she purred seductively.

* * *

Aisling walked into Catlin's chamber. The archer was sitting on her bed. Her arms were crossed on her lap and she was staring off at nothing in particular.

"Catlin, will you be joining us for our morning meal?" she asked smiling.

"No... I... I didn't sleep well last night. I'm going to try to get a little rest."

The dark haired woman walked over to Catlin's bed and sat down, facing her.

"Are you alright?" her eyes were full of concern for her new friend.

"Yes, I'm fine. It's just been a long journey," Catlin forced herself to smile.

"I think you should come to the meal," Aisling looked down and blushed slightly. "My brother fancies you, I think," she said in a conspiratory whisper.

"Your brother is a kind host," Catlin said quietly. "Send my greetings."

"Maybe later I could show you around our village?" Aisling offered, standing up.

"That would be nice," Catlin said sincerely.

* * *

Tully sat in the familiar tree. This morning his thoughts wandered, as they often had these past few days, to Aiobhell. He sat pondering when he heard the rustle of leaves beneath him. Aiobhell slipped into his view. She paced back and forth nervously. Tully was about to call out her name and reveal himself, but something warned him not to. It was obvious she was waiting for someone, he just needed to see who it was.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the leaves part in the near distance. Through the shimmering leaves he could just make out the top of a helmet. A Roman patrol. In disbelief he stared down at Aiobhell. She couldn't be a spy. He refused to believe it. Before he knew what he was doing he was at the foot of the tree grabbing her arm.

"Tully!" she gasped in surprise.

"Aiobhell, Romans are coming!" he whispered urgently, pulling her back towards the Sanctuary. As they retreated to safety, her head kept turning towards the woods, as if she was still waiting for someone.

* * *

Conor splashed cool water on his face. Droplets clung to his eyelashes, obscuring his vision. He closed his eyes and again dowsed his face. Rivulets ran down his neck and chest. He wished he could rinse away the pain and jealousy that ached his heart as well. The grim reality of the situation hung over every minute: Catlin was going to die. Somehow. Soon. And by Longinus' hand.

Instead of keeping her close, he had pushed her away. It was seeing her with Ian last night. The sight of her laughing in his arms... But there was nothing he could do to change what could not be changed. It had all started out as an untruth. For Catlin's own safety, she needed to continue to believe that it was Claire in his dreams.

Rising he walked over to a small cluster of standing stones by the stream. Hundreds of years before, Ian's ancestors had carved ancient spirals into the soft stone. Years of wind and rain had made them barely visible. Conor's finger traced a pattern. It had no beginning and no end. It simply was.

"I wish I knew what to do," he said quietly. "I don't know how to prepare for this attack when I don't know where it will come from." In his heart he called to his ancestors and to the ancient ones who had created the land. He begged them for help.

In the early morning light, someone heard Conor's request.

* * *

Fergus' eyebrow arched suspiciously.

"You think she was waiting for the Romans?" he questioned the young magician.

"I don't know Fergus... I mean, there they were... they were so close to finding the Sanctuary..." Tully said with definite worry. "But I just can't believe it was her. She can't be a traitor."

The big man stood facing the younger. He placed a strong hand upon the youth's shoulder.

"I don't believe it either. There's got to be some other explanation," Fergus agreed.

* * *

"Ian is ready to meet with you now." The voice belonged to the rough man with the scar on his face, Colin.

"Thank you," Conor said nodding his head. As he made his way past Colin, the man caught his arm. The brute leaned in and spoke in a gravelly soft voice.

"You make sure that wanton girl of yours stays clear of Ian. He does not need that kind of distraction. The Council does not approve, and you do not want to upset them."

"Are you threatening me?" Conor said with a defiant stare.

"Let's just call it a warning..." he growled as he walked away.

* * *

"Aiobhell? Are you in there?" Tully called out softly. He could hear stifled sobs emerging from her room.

He entered the little chamber without waiting for an answer. He found her sitting on her bed, her face buried in her hands.

"Aiobhell?" he asked again.

Red tear-stained eyes peered at him as she moved her hands from her face.

"Oh Tully," she said softly. "There is just so much sorrow..." The voice was that of someone older. A parent, a grandparent. A wise woman speaking of her children and the painful mistakes they would make. It was the voice of an ancestor.

He stood dumbfounded. She held her hand out to him. He took it and sat beside her in silence.

"What is it?" Concern pooled in his brown eyes as he finally managed to speak.

A sad smile played across her lips. "Everyone here... what they've lost... what they might loose..."

"What you've lost," Tully finished.

"Yes, but it's more than that." She turned toward him and placed her hand on his shoulder. "Tully, tell me about your family."

"You know my family. Fergus, Conor, Catlin. I've told you about them."

"No," she said in a voice nearly a whisper. "I mean your mother and father. Your brothers and sisters."

The young man's face changed into an indeterminate expression. His eyes turned stony and his jaw set.

"I don't remember much," he said, not daring to look into her eyes. "I remember being small. My mother used to sing me songs. I don't really remember them... I remember playing with my older brother and my little sister. I remember the beautiful trees that lined our village."

"Happy memories all," she smiled.

His eyes darkened as he continued. "I remember the ship. I remember mother being sick. I remember the storm... I remember the cold water... I remember death. I remember seeing my little sister's body floating in the water," his voice began to crack. "And then there was a hand pulling me up into a boat." A tear journeyed down his cheek. "It was Galen."

"He saved you."

"Yes, he did. I was terrified. His skin was so pale, and I didn't understand his language. But I remember knowing that he was good, that he saved me." A smile replaced the pain on his face.

"And slowly he became like a father to you."

"Yes, he did..."

Tully sat silently for a moment, then summoned his courage.

"Aiobhell, what were you doing outside the Sanctuary this morning?"

The girl looked down at the earth. Her face was hidden from Tully's gaze by a cascade of her hair.

"I was just there to find some peace..." she whispered.

"But the Romans..." Tully couldn't stop his hesitant voice from sounding the accusation.

Aiobhell turned her head towards him. Her brow wrinkled and her eyes filled with fresh tears.

"I'm not a traitor... I would never do anything to jeopardize your safety," her voice pleaded.

"I know... but the soldiers-" he tried to explain.

Aiobhell stood up and walked away from Tully. She ran her hand through her tangled hair.

"Tully, I would never hurt you or Fergus. I would never betray you. You have to know that," her voice was low and she did not face him. "If you think that I'm endangering the Sanctuary or Conor and Catlin's position with Ian's tribe, then please just tell me." She turned again to face him. "Tell me and I'll go."

"Aiobhell, I..." But he didn't know what to say. Slowly, Tully stood and walked towards the cloth flaps covering the entrance to the little room. He turned back to face her just as he was leaving. A small smile lit his face.

She returned the smile, with a slight melancholy look in her eyes.

"I'll see you at supper," he spoke softly.

She said nothing, just nodded her head yes.

* * *

Ian sat at the stone table across from Conor.

"I trust you slept well?" he asked his guest hospitably.

"Yes. Thank you for your generosity..." Conor replied. He forced himself to continue with what he really wanted to ask. "Was your evening successful?"

"Do you mean did I choose a bride?" Ian chuckled. "No... I'm not about to let them rush me into that."

Silence followed. It was obvious there were more pressing things on Ian's mind. The dark-haired leader stood up and walked back to the entry of the small room. He leaned up against the clay wall, his back to his guest.

"It's an ugly business, this," he said dejectedly.

"What is?" Conor asked.

"Alliances, Romans, all of it." Ian turned on his heel and walked back to the table. "I never wanted to be the leader... But those Roman bastards killed my father." The pain in his voice was evident.

"I didn't want to lead either... They killed my family too." Conor stood up and clasped Ian on the shoulder. "But if we unite together, we can drive them off the island. We can take back what they've stolen from us."

"I want to believe you. I want to join the Confederation. But my people are not warriors, Conor. They are farmers."

"I know it's much to risk... but believe me, the Romans won't let your people farm in peace," he paused briefly. When he spoke again, there was a resigned sorrow in his voice. "There is a Roman named Longinus. He is evil. He will enslave your people." Conor looked Ian in the eye. "Trust me, Ian... Our fathers were allies. If you join the Confederation we are one step closer to ridding ourselves of the Romans forever."

Ian sighed heavily. "You'll need to bring this before our Council. They convene in six days."

"Thank you, Ian. You won't regret this."


	12. Trust

Catlin and Aisling had walked most of the village. Every path, every tree, every person had a story. Aisling told them well. Catlin felt a pang in her heart. She felt the same way about the Sanctuary. She wished they were there now. She missed the support of her friends.

They ran into Conor as he was leaving the small meeting room. "Catlin," Conor said catching her arm, "I need to talk to you." "I'll be there in a minute," she said quietly. 

"Thank you," he said softly as he walked to his quarters.

"That sounds important," Aisling said. "I will see you at supper, then?" 

"Yes, of course," she smiled back.

"Conor?" Catlin called before entering his room.

"Come in, Cat." She stepped through the entryway. His tortured gaze peered at her. The chill of the early evening air had seeped into the little hut. Catlin hugged her cloak around her and sat on a small chair. 

"It's getting colder," she said, futile conversation grinding to a halt.

Silence hung thick between them like fog on a dewy morning. "Ian wants to join the Confederation, but he needs the support of his 

Council."

"That's good news," she said quietly.

"They meet in six days..." Conor couldn't look at her. "Catlin, I think it's best if you go back to the Sanctuary." 

"What?" her eyes opened wide.

"I'll take you back and then return for the meeting." "Conor, this is ridiculous," she stood up and walked over to him. "Why are you doing this? What are you so angry about?" Tears again filled her eyes, but she would not let them slip down her face. 

"Cat, I'm not doing this-"

"You are shutting me out!" she took his hands in hers and pleaded with him. "I know. I know you are still having dreams. Why won't you let me help you?"

"Catlin, those dreams... they..." he stammered. His eyes were glassy. He shook his head and turned his back on her. "You can't help me."

"There was a time when I could tell you anything... and you could tell me too," she said sadly shaking her head. "What's changed since then, what?" Stony silence was his response. Catlin started out of the room, anxious to get away from him.

"Cat..." he said without turning.

"What is it," she replied hollowly, just inside the doorway.

Conor turned to face her piercing stare. "We need Ian's people to join us. This will give us a foothold in the North... It's vitally important that they join us."

"I know that Conor," she could sense where Conor was heading.

"I saw you with him last night," he admitted. "So did the rest of the village..."

"And you think my being here is endangering the Confederation?" She closed her eyes.

"What?" It was Ian. He had walked in the room moments before. Catlin turned to face him at the sound of his voice.

"There's talk," Conor said.

Ian had placed his hand on Catlin's shoulder. "Conor, that is between my people and I. What I choose to do is my own business."

Catlin stared blankly at the two men. "And what I choose to do is mine as well," she stalked out of the room. Speechless, the men stared at the doorway.

"Ian, this union is more important than anyone's feelings... It's more important than any one of us. If Cat's being here is endangering the decision of the Council, then it's best that she goes," Conor said plainly.

"Conor, I appreciate your worry, but her being here is not a problem. The Council will make a fair decision. They won't be swayed by town gossip," Ian scoffed.

"You may be willing to risk that, but I'm not." Conor said starting to walk past him. Ian caught his arm.

"I think the one who has a problem with her being here is you." Ian stared him straight in the eyes.

Conor shrugged off his hand and went out to find her.

* * *

"My Lord," Antonius bowed his head as he held the parchment out for the immortal. "Ah, good. More news," Longinus smiled taking the paper from the soldier's hand. "Thank you, that will be all." Antonius again nodded and left the room. Longinus watched him go. It was the soldier who had been much in the service of Diana lately. He figured him a spy, but he didn't particularly mind. Let Diana have her little intrigues. She had no idea what was really going on. 

With relish he broke the seal on the paper and read the news from his obedient servant.

_"My Lord Longinus, I have become close to the leaders. There is much to discuss, but I wish to do it personally. If it pleases you, meet __me tonight. I believe you know where. Your obedient servant."__  
_  
Longinus smiled. Purposely, he set the parchment down on a small table in the throne room. Antonius was not terribly smart, so he needed to leave the paper where he could best find it. After all, this was one note that Diana would find far too intriguing to resist.

* * *

"Catlin?" 

Conor stepped into the chamber without waiting for a reply. He found her sitting on the bed rubbing her neck with her right hand. Her eyes were closed. She did not hear him enter the room.

"Cat?" he said again, slightly louder.

Her eyes jumped open. The look of surprise that registered briefly turned to a glazed expression.

"What do you want Conor?" she sighed wearily.

He walked over to her side and knelt down in front of her. "Catlin," he said taking her hands in his, "You have to believe me when I tell you there's a reason for all of this." She looked away from him. A slight breath escaped her lips and she shook her head slowly.

"Tell me, then. Tell me the reason." Her gaze again rested on his.

"I... I can't." His brow furrowed. Catlin tried to pull away from him. He sat down beside her and refused to let her go.

"Conor, I will die to protect you, to protect the Confederation. I am loyal to you and the cause... but I can't bear this. I can't be your friend if you can't trust me."

Conor leaned in towards her and rested his forehead against hers. He released her hands and stroked her hair. "Catlin, I do trust you... But I need you to trust me..." he said softly. "I need you to follow me without asking why... I need you to believe in me."

"Conor..." she sighed. "You know I believe in you, but why won't you let me help you?"

He stood up and walked toward the doorway. "You can help me best by not asking why." He waited for a response. He turned back to face her.

"Fine," she said quietly, "I'll leave tomorrow... But I'm going alone."

"Catlin-"

"Conor! I'll do what you ask for the Confederation... but I'm perfectly capable of getting back to the Sanctuary by myself."

"We'll discuss this tomorrow," he said as he left.

* * *

After supper she slipped back to her room and waited. Waited for darkness. Waited for the others to go to sleep. She pulled her cloak around her and thought of Longinus. She would see him tonight. In the shadows she listed to the sound of the simple people going to sleep. At times she didn't know how long she could stand it. These people were so lost. Soon, though. Soon they would unite with Longinus or be destroyed.

* * *

Catlin packed up her bag. She would leave in the morning - with or without saying goodbye to Conor. There was no need for him to go back with her. She knew Fergus would be furious at her for leaving Conor alone, but she would deal with him later. She stepped out into the darkening night. A cold wind was blowing. Winter was upon them. Catlin couldn't remember it ever getting so cold so early in the season. "Catlin?" It was Ian. He was returning to his room. "Hi," she smiled. "You're going?" He stopped and walked towards her, shaking his head. "You don't have to go."

"I know," she smiled. "But Conor's right. I don't want to do anything to endanger the Confederation."

"You believe that strongly?"

"I do, yes," she shivered. He put an arm around her shoulder and led her back towards her chambers. "Come on, you'll catch your death."

* * *

"My Queen," Antonius bowed before the silken haired woman. He held out the parchment that earlier he had delivered to Longinus. 

Diana sauntered over to him. He couldn't help but notice how the purple silk of her gown hugged every curve of her as she moved.

"Did you see who delivered it?" "Yes, my Queen. He was one of Longinus' secret guard. But I don't think he wrote the message." 

"Oh... what a brilliant deduction," she said. The sarcasm was lost on the soldier. She took the paper from him and unrolled it.

Reading the contents to herself a small smile crept across her face. Her eyes widened and she tossed her black locks with a quick move of her head. "Get our horses ready. We're going on a little trip."

* * *

Fergus finished meeting with a small group of the Sanctuary's best fighters. They had been discussing strategies for better protection of their enclave during the winter. Hunting parties had been gathering supplies for several days. Winter was early and it looked as if she was angry as well. 

The big man stretched as he walked out of the little meeting room. He headed toward Tully's chamber. The lad had been very quiet after his visit to confront Aiobhell. In his heart, Fergus didn't want to believe that she was in league with the Romans. But his head told him to be suspicious. He had caught himself surreptitiously glancing at the girl's arms, searching for the brand of Longinus.

He got to Tully's room and found him asleep. Careful not to wake him, he left the lad's room and walked over to Aiobhell's quarters. He called out her name twice before entering. There was no reply. 

The room was tidy and there was no sign that she had been there in several hours. No embers glowed in the fire pit. Fergus put his hand on the pieces of burnt wood. They were cold.

"Sweet Brigit, Lass. You're not making it easy for us to believe you."

Raising his eyebrow and shaking his head he walked back to his room. 


	13. The Roar

Conor now knew the dreams would come. Each night he closed his eyes with a troubled heart. Each night he drifted off to sleep trying desperately to plan how he could avoid the unavoidable ending. As his eyes drew closed he readied himself for his nightly battle.

Catlin couldn't remember how it was she ended up in the council meeting room of Ian's tribe. The stinging night wind howled outside the tiny building. She felt unease and drew her sword. The hissing of metal seemed somewhat loud... too loud. Nervously, she paced about the room waiting. The approaching sound of footsteps drew her attention back toward the door. Conor rushed in.

"Catlin, you have to get out of here."

His voice was panicked. He ran over to her and pulled her toward the door. Catlin could feel every small bump and ridge of his hand on her arm. Her senses were overly active.

"Conor, what's wrong?"

"Please, Catlin. You have to get out of here," his brown eyes pleaded with hers.

Without a word, she followed him out into the night. From a distance she could see a man in a brown robe approaching. It was Longinus.

"Go... GO!" Conor yelled. He pushed her towards what seemed the escape route, away from the approaching Roman. "Conor! Come on!" She tried to pull him with her. He pushed her away.

"Catlin, please... Do as I say. Go!"

Catlin didn't want to leave, but the order had been direct and she knew for once not to question it. She ran and tried not to look back. She heard the sound of Conor battling Longinus. Still she did not turn. Then the sound of someone crashing into something. A small groan. Heavy hearted, she recognized the sound as Conor. Her feet inexplicably began to slow. It was as if she did not control her own body. She heard someone approaching. Then a cold hand grabbed her arm. Finally, she turned. The pallid face and fetid breath of the 400 year-old man were there in front of her. Smiling, Longinus twisted her arms behind her back. Catlin writhed to free herself, but it was no use. His strength was too great. Longinus pushed her back to where Conor was slowly staggering to his feet. A determined expression played across the prince's face as he steadied his sword in an attack position. In a single swift moment Catlin felt herself being lifted into the air. Then in a blinding flash of pain she was hurled into the side of the small building she had been in moments before. It was all she could do to keep conscious. Her body cried out and throbbed. Catlin felt a wet stinging in her eyes. She brought her hand to her face and wiped away the blood that was seeping from a gash above her temple. She saw Conor try to run Longinus through, but his attack was slow and clumsy. She thought she heard the centurion laugh as he knocked Conor to the ground. Longinus turned back toward Catlin and pulled her to her feet by her hair. She whimpered in pain, but could no longer struggle. It took all her energy to fight off the inky darkness beckoning to take over her vision.

"Longinus," Conor's feeble voice cracked. "Longinus!"

She again felt herself being lifted into the air. Catlin braced herself for the next blow. A moment or two went by before she realized that she was still held aloft by Longinus. Slowly she felt herself being lowered to the ground. In a brilliant flash of light someone appeared between she and Conor. The being was neither male nor female. The voice it spoke with was Catlin's own, and in her mind, but the words were clear.

"Longinus... This spell is broken. You will not come again to these people in their dreams. I will not allow you to use our ways to carry out your deeds."

Catlin felt and heard her heart pounding. She heard Conor's heartbeat. She heard the quiet breath of those sleeping in the village. She heard the quick palpitations of a rabbit. She heard the fluttering of owl's wings. The groan of a tree branch. She heard everything around her. It washed over her in a roar.

* * *

Diana yawned wearily. She and Antonius had been tracking Longinus for over three hours, but still, they hadn't yet caught up with him. The Queen was not stupid. She was sure Longinus knew what they were up to. It had been unfortunate that she had not chosen a smarter soldier, but she wasn't in the position to be picky this time.

"All right Longinus, you win," she yelled out in the darkness.

"My lady!" Antonius whispered sharply. "He will hear us!" Antonius was smart enough to know that Longinus was not as forgiving as Diana. The immortal appeared out of the brush to Diana's left. A satisfied smile played across his face.

"You're a little too late, Diana. You've missed her."

Diana stared at him. Her mouth opened, as if to speak, then closed. She held out her hand. Longinus took it and helped her off her horse.

"I don't understand why you feel the need to keep things from me," she said placing her hands on his chest.

"Because, my love, you are only looking out for yourself... If it suited you, you would ally with Conor in a heartbeat."

"It's impossible to lock me out, Longinus. I know you too well."

"We'll see."

* * *

Catlin gasped for air. She sat up straight in the bed. The roar still lingered in her ears. Feeling suddenly claustrophobic, she stumbled outside. Seconds later, Conor emerged from his room coughing.

Her eyes found his in the night. He quickly crossed over to where she had slumped to her knees.

"The dream?" he asked quietly.

"I was there... I felt- it was..." she couldn't continue, just exhaled a shaky breath.

Conor knelt down next to her and placed his left arm around her shoulder. With the back of his right hand he stroked her cheek.

"Shh. I know... I know."

Conor had become used to the dreams. It was easier for him to return to reality. "Come on." He helped her up and walked her back into her room. They sat down on the bed. "It's over," he said squeezing her hand.

"Conor, what was that? What just happened to us?" she gasped, her eyes wide.

"Whatever it was, I think it's over now," he smiled. Genuine relief registered on his face. "Now go back to sleep. We'll talk about this in the morning." He leaned her back on the blankets and stroked her hair. Her heart slowed it's racing and as her eyes fluttered closed she could barely make out Conor's figure standing at the doorway. He cast a watchful eye on her then disappeared into the night. Sleep took her and it was void of dreams.


	14. The Winter Begins

Tully woke in the early morning hours, determined to find out the truth about Aiobhell. He rose and stretched. The cold night had seeped into his room and his body was stiff.

Donning a woolen cloak, he slipped silently into the frigid outside air. Vapor from his breath floated in front of him. As he turned to head toward Aiobhell's chambers, he spotted someone approaching him from the Sanctuary's entrance. As the figure drew closer, he recognized it as Aiobhell. She stopped a short distance away and huddled in the folds of her cloak. "Tully..." she said in a calm, quiet voice.

"Aiobhell, where were you?" He hated be so accusatory, but he had to know the truth.

"I was just out walking," was her simple reply.

There was a thick silence between them. For some strange reason, Tully couldn't bring himself to question her any further. For the second time in as many days, he changed the subject. "Fergus and I will be leading a scouting party later today. Would you like to join us?"

"I would like that," she smiled. Without another word she walked by him, touching him gently on the shoulder and disappeared into the wakening village.

* * *

Catlin woke as the first light danced on the horizon. Her mind reeled from the events of the evening before. She desperately wanted to talk to Conor. How had they come to share the same dream? What had all of it meant? She now knew why Conor's dreams had been so vivid and hard to shake. In her sleep she could smell the smoldering fire in the building. She could feel the sharp pain of being thrown into the wall. Her scalp stung from where Longinus had pulled her by her hair to her feet. How had all of this happened?

There would be no answers today. If she was going to leave, she had to do it now. As much as she wanted to talk to Conor, she knew if she did she wouldn't leave. Quickly and resolutely, she gathered her belongings and headed out into the sharp cold morning and headed to the stable.

"Catlin?" It was Aisling. The girl was walking through the small square by the stable when she caught sight of Catlin tying her pack to her horse.

"Good morning Aisling," she smiled back at her. In a swift moment, she pulled herself into the saddle.

"Where are you going?" Aisling's brow was slightly furrowed.

"I'm going back."

"No," the girl sighed disappointedly. "Why?"

"It's better that I go. The council is uncomfortable with me being here. I can't afford to endanger the Confederation."

Aisling's eyes darkened. "I hate the council," she spoke in a quiet voice. "To them I'm no better than a sow. I'm just a thing for them to barter and trade. I have no rights and no respect... Just because I'm a woman."

Catlin looked at her with a small smile. "Does Ian know how you feel?"

"My brother sees me as nothing but his weak little sister."

"Tell him. He might surprise you." Catlin turned her horse and started off towards the village gate.

"Safe journey," Aisling called after her. Catlin stopped and turned back to face the dark-haired Princess.

"Things can change, Aisling. Don't give up hope."

In a moment she had disappeared into the misty morning. Aisling watched her leave and with a heavy sigh she walked back to her room, hoping that what Catlin said was true.

* * *

When Conor woke, he smiled. He was now sure that the dreams had stopped. He thought back to the strange being from the dream. There was someone out there watching over them. But how had he and Catlin shared the same nightmare? Surely she had not experienced the other dreams. Maybe this was a message. Maybe he was meant to share with her what had happened in his sleep. Futilely he tried to wrap his mind around the puzzle. He gave up without an answer.

The cold morning air filled his lungs as he rushed out to talk to her. It was as if a burden had been lifted from his heart. She was safe. While he still did not want her to leave, he realized it was for the best. The impact this tribe could make if united with them was great. What Conor wanted now was to apologize; to explain what had happened; to repair their broken friendship before it was too late. As he made his way to Catlin's chambers, he saw Ian standing in the doorway.

"She's already gone, Conor," the leader said with obvious disappointment. "When?"

"Aisling saw her leave at dawn."

Conor disguised his immediate emotion with a flippant remark. "Well, I'll just go over things with her when I get back..."

"Yes, I suppose so." Ian stared at him. There was a slight pause. "I would like for you to address a few members of the council informally today... Would you be willing to do that?"

"Of course."

"It's not going to be an easy task, unification. We need to convince the council that they will not be expected to fight. They need to know that we are joining this alliance for peace, not for war."

"I understand."

"Good." 

As Ian walked off, Conor couldn't help but remember the look in Ian's eyes when he spoke of Catlin. Conor hoped that he hadn't sent her away to satisfy his own jealous heart.

* * *

The scouting party left the Sanctuary mid-morning. Fergus, Tully and Aiobhell walked in front of the others.

"Did you sleep well, lass?" Fergus asked casually.

"Yes. Very well..." Aiobhell ran her hands over her arms. "It's getting colder, isn't it?" she said with a sly smile.

"Ah, nonsense. The cold air is good you!" Fergus said pounding his chest and breathing deeply through his nose.

"Well, I don't like it," Tully said moodily.

"Lad, you don't like anything this morning. What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing, Fergus... nothing."

"Nothing, eh? Sounds like something to me."

"Fergus, please..." Tully sighed waving him off with his hand and walking faster to get ahead of the other two.

The warrior waited until the younger man walked out of earshot. He turned to his attention to the girl at his side. "Does this have something to do with you?" He questioned.

"It might..." she sighed. "I don't think he trusts me."

"To tell you the truth, lass. I'm not sure I do either." Aiobhell stopped and turned to face Fergus.

"Then why..."

"Because if you were a Roman spy, I'd have figured you would've given us away by now... And if you are a Roman spy, I'd rather keep track of you."

"Oh." Perplexed, she opened her mouth, then shut it without another word.

"But, your late night excursions to who knows where are going to end. At least until you offer a suitable explanation... And I will have to keep a guard on you at all times." Fergus' tone was even and diplomatic. There was no sign of anger or tension. Perhaps he would make a better leader than he thought. Aiobhell smiled at him and clasped his arm.

"Thank you for being fair, Fergus."

"Think nothing of it," he winked.

* * *

The day's journey was long and lonely. The biting wind had not relented and Catlin was starting to worry that it might snow. She looked heavenward with growing unease at the impending clouds.

She would hunt and eat shortly, because she was not sure the weather would hold off much longer. Her horse neighed as if to reprimand her for bringing the beast out into such cold weather. Patting the animal on the neck, she was beginning to wonder why she had agreed to leave at all.

* * *

Conor met with four of the council elders. They sat in the meeting room during their midday meal. Colin was among them. His narrow stare told Conor that this was not going to be an easy argument. Ian stood up from the table and addressed the men.

"Elders, by now you know of the invitation Conor has given for us to join the Confederation. I am not asking you to decide, I am just asking you to listen with open minds. I'm sure that Conor will answer any questions you have about this decision... You all know my feelings, and I do not want anyone to feel pressure to support or avoid this alliance based on my vote. Therefore, I will leave you all to talk to Conor and learn about what this alliance has to offer our tribe."

Ian left the room and Conor began a battle that was more difficult than defeating a legion of Romans: a battle of politics and persuasion.

* * *

"My Queen?" The voice of Antonius sounded small outside the heavy door.

"You may enter," she called to her guard. Antonius entered the room with another soldier.

"And who is this?" she said with curiosity.

"My Queen, this is Marcus. He has seen Longinus' informer," Antonius said proudly, like a hunter displaying his kill. Diana's eyes opened wide. She walked over to where the two soldiers stood and crossed her arms in front of her.

"You have seen this spy?"

"Yes, my Queen," Marcus answered nervously.

"Well then. Who is she? What does she look like?"

"I don't know her name... but she is one of the natives. She's a young woman. Beautiful. I don't know the color of her hair, it was under the hood of her cloak."

"Did you speak to her?"

"Yes, my Queen."

Diana raised her eyebrows and lowered her chin. She spoke deliberately and slowly. "Well... what she say?"

"She gave me a sealed letter, with the directions to take it to Longinus at once."

"I see. Did you see which direction she went in?"

"No, my Queen."

Sighing, Diana walked over to the pillows by the fire. She flopped into them and waved at the soldiers with her hand.

"Leave me."

Antonius, who was slightly deflated by her response spoke up. "I thought this information would make you happy, my Queen."

Diana turned her face back to the men and scoffed.

"Don't think, Antonius. It's not your strong suit... Now LEAVE." She ordered.

The guards did as ordered. Diana stood up and walked to the window. The spy was out there, somewhere, and the fact that she knew more of Longinus' plans made her more than just angry. It made her jealous. Through the windowpane she heard the wind howling. Snow began to fall in ever-faster waves.

* * *

"Sir?"

Ian looked up. One of the hunting party stood in his doorway with a worried expression on his face.

"What is it?"

"There were Roman troops moving through the woods just south of us."

"Just south, you say?" The troops were heading straight along Catlin's path.

"Yes, sir. They were looking for someone. Or something."

Ian walked past the villager and out into the snow. It had deepened greatly in the hour since he had been in his room.

"Sir, where are you going?"

"Someone needs help. Let the council know I'm gone but I'll be back by midday tomorrow." Ian strode toward the stables in a fast gait.

"Sir, shall I come with you?" The worried man asked, hoping his leader would respond in the negative.

"No. I'll be fine alone."

* * *

Catlin sat shivering by the small fire. There was no way she was going to survive the night out in the cold. Snow had been blanketing the ground for hours and showed no sign of stopping. There was no shelter and the light was fading fast. She went to her pack and pulled out her sleeping blankets. She spread them over her horse and came to an uneasy decision. She would have to turn back. It was nearly two days further journey to the Sanctuary, but if she turned back to Ian's village, she would be there sometime in the middle of the night.

Quickly she doused the fire and got back on her horse. The animal whinnied.

"I know, I know. You were right," she said as she rubbed the horse's neck. She turned back and followed the hoof marks they had just made in the fresh snow. 


	15. Alone

Conor emerged from the meeting room as the sky was beginning to darken. He felt as if he had just returned from the battlefield, only it was his brain, not his body that was fatigued and spent. The meeting had been slightly successful. He felt that maybe two of the four would consider unification.

As he expected, Colin was not in favor of alliance. He knew that the rough man would be voting against uniting with the Confederation.

Conor shuddered and finally realized that he was standing in snow halfway to his knees. A single thought crossed his mind. Catlin. Catlin was out in this snow. There was no way she would make it through the night. Trudging through the drifts, he made his way back to his hut. Quickly scanning the room, he grabbed his sword and the blankets from his bed. He rushed out to the stables.

"Conor?" It was Aisling.

Her face was barely visible in the folds of the large green cloak she was wrapped in.

"What is it?" he said barely turning. He was busily cinching the saddle around his horse.

"It's... Um... Ian's gone out to find her," she stammered.

"What?" He stopped and turned.

"Ian's already left to find Catlin... About an hour ago." She looked down at the ground.

"Good," he nodded. His eyes wandered left and right of the girl, but could not stop to look her in the eye. He turned back to his horse and continued to ready the animal.

"There was a Roman patrol out searching for her..." Aisling spoke quickly.

Conor stopped, but did not turn. Icy fear gripped his heart. Longinus. It wasn't over after all; the dreams were coming true. As if to steady himself, Conor rested one hand on the neck of the horse.

"Is there a faster route south?" He still did not turn to face her.

"I'm not sure," she said slowly. "I've never been aloud to travel alone outside the village walls... I'm sorry." There was a sadness in her voice.

Conor swung himself into the saddle.

"Conor, you shouldn't go... It's too dangerous," Aisling pleaded, her voice full of fear.

"I have to go. I'm not going to let Catlin die," he nearly shouted at the girl as he turned his horse and headed toward the village gate.

"But Ian knows these lands better than anyone. If anyone can find her, he can..." she called after him, futilely.

Conor did not stop to acknowledge her plea. As he galloped towards the gate, he found Colin and seven other men, all armed, blocking the exit. He brought his horse to a stop.

"Let me pass." He stared directly at Colin.

"No... No one is to leave the village tonight. These were Ian's direct orders," Colin's gravely voice echoed in the still dusk. The other men stood motionless, but at the ready to attack.

"Colin, this doesn't concern you. I am going alone. This has nothing to do with your village."

"You will not leave." The scarred man's eyes narrowed. Colin rubbed his stubbly chin with his hand and looked back to his men. "Eion, Dermot, why don't you escort our guest back to his quarters and make sure he's comfortable for the evening... We wouldn't want anything to happen to him."

As the two approached, Conor weighed his options. He could fight the men, but the odds definitely weren't in his favor. One against eight was not a battle easily won. If he were to fight, it would destroy any chance at all of unification. With a heavy heart, he dismounted his horse and let the men lead him back to his quarters.

* * *

Longinus entered Diana's bedchamber on silent feet. The queen was wrapped in furs and lay sleeping on her left side. Her left hand was curled at her forehead as if she were solving a puzzle in her dreams. Captivated for a moment, the ancient centurion almost forgot the pain that lived in what used to be his heart.

His mind floated back to when they had first met, to when they were new to each other. When just the sound of her voice or the tilt of her head would elicit desire. The attraction had been instant and immediate. In 400 years he had loved many, but Diana had been different. She was beautiful, yes, but she had ambition and cunning. Her mind was rough-hewn jewel. If only she had the patience and wisdom that 400 years of experience would provide.

But things had changed. They always did. Eventually no woman could stay with him. Longinus had changed too. In the past, he had always had the relentless pursuit of the Spear. He had always had the hope of salvation. Now he had rage. He had hate. He had destruction. Those had become his pursuits. He didn't blame Diana for reviling him. He supposed that no mortal could understand the depths of his emotions, the chasms of his pain.

He sat down at the edge of Diana's bed and gently stroked her hair. She shifted slightly in her sleep. He leaned down and kissed her softly. In the haze between the waking world and the dream world, Diana recognized his touch.

"Longinus," she whispered, still sleeping.

Her arms reached for him. He brought her hands to his face and gently kissed them. He stood up and leaned over her. Again he caressed her hair and kissed her forehead. As he turned to leave, her hand reached out and caught his arm.

"Don't go Longinus," she spoke in her sleep.

_It's too late_, he thought.

"It's not too late..." she trailed off, as if she had read his mind.

As if her sleeping words had pierced his soul, he gasped for air. Quickly he turned back towards her. Her eyes remained closed and she was still asleep. In that brief moment, he felt feelings that had been buried inside for so long. He felt love. He felt hope. The moment, however, was fleeting. As if the door had been slammed shut, the feelings left him. He closed his eyes and tried to bring them back. They would not come. He exited the room as silently as he had entered it. In her sleep, a silent tear flowed down Diana's face.


	16. Colder

Catlin crouched shaking in a thick grove of trees just south of where Roman troops had tied their horses. She had counted 25 men in the group. Her teeth began chattering and she looked upward. Snow was still falling relentlessly, and showed no signs of stopping. The group was camped for the evening. Three large fires lit their camp. Tents of heavy fabric had been pitched in the small clearing.

There was nothing she could do but continue south and hope that she would find some sort of shelter. The troops blocked the only path north. A steep hill sloped off on the east and a large river bordered her western side. The eastern route would be too treacherous in the snow and the river looked near impossible to cross even in the best weather conditions.

Quietly, she picked her way through the brush to where her horse was waiting. Standing in the cover of a large oak, she peered about the area. Her eye caught sight of the glint of moonlight off something shiny. She took it for a cloak pin, or perhaps Roman armor. Circling around unseen, she approached her prey carefully, drawing her sword in complete silence. The man was looking back at where her horse was tied, watching for her approach from the north. He did not even sense her presence until he felt the point of her sword at his back.

"Turn slowly. Don't call for help, or you'll be dead before it reaches you," she said in a low, intense voice.

The man turned slowly. Catlin's face broke into a smile as she lowered her weapon.

"Ian, what are you doing here?" she whispered.

"Ach, it's a lovely evening for a walk, isn't it?" he smiled. The smile slowly slid from his face, replaced with concern as he noticed the paleness of her skin and the bluish tint of her lips. "Are you alright?"

"Just a little cold," she said shivering.

"Come on," he said taking her hand and leading her to where her horse stood. "There's a hunting cottage nearby."

* * *

Conor paced nervously in his room. He tried to reassure himself that Ian would find Catlin before the Romans did. After all, there was no doubt that Catlin could avoid a Roman scouting party. She was much more careful and agile than they. It was the cold and the harsh terrain that worried him most. Just outside the door, the two guards continued their watch. He walked up to the door.

"Eoin, is it?" Conor said approaching a slight man with dark wavy hair and an unruly beard.

"That's me," he nodded.

"A word?" Conor gestured into the hut. Suspiciously, the man looked to his counterpart, then shrugged and followed Conor into the room. "Have you lived in this village for many years?" He asked the guard.

"All my life..." He glanced at Conor with a slight hint of trepidation. It was obvious he was uncomfortable talking to someone he was guarding.

"My father, Derek was an ally of Ian's father. My father always spoke of your tribe as great warriors... Ian insists now that you are only farmers, looking for peace."

Eoin nodded knowingly. "My father fought in the tradition of our ancestors. But everything changed when we tried to attack the Roman fort. The King was killed in the battle. Our tribe was cut apart. Nearly half our men were slain. Every family lost at least one father or brother or son." The man's eyes became glassy.

"Your father as well?" Conor asked already anticipating the response.

Eoin nodded his head in the affirmative and lowered his voice. "Ian decreed that we would now only fight to protect ourselves, and that we would seek peace at all costs. He sold most of the riches of the tribe and bought seed and animals. We turned to farming... we turned to hiding... Some call him a coward. They say that he disgraces us and his father's memory." Eoin turned to leave but shot a final determined glance at Conor. "I say he's a true hero and saved us from destruction."

"I need your help," Conor said plainly.

The guard closed his eyes and sighed. "You know I can't help you."

"And you know it's wrong for Colin to hold me prisoner here. You know Ian wouldn't want this."

"Colin... he holds power within the Council. If I disobey his orders, I'll have them to answer to."

"My friend is out there. She could die... Please, let me help her."

Eoin wavered for a moment. The decision was playing out on his face. He winced slightly then looked away from Conor.

"I'm sorry... I can't help you."

Eoin gave him a small nod of his head and walked back out into the awaiting cold. Conor sat down on his bed with a heavy heart. There was something troubling about these people, about this place. For farmers at peace there was too much unrest. Outside the wind began to howl. His mind wandered back to Catlin. He hoped Ian had found her by now. It was getting colder.

* * *

Ian sat behind Catlin on the horse, wrapping his arms and cloak around her and taking the reins. By now she was shaking violently from the cold.

"We'll be there soon," he said softly. He held the reins in his left hand and pulled Catlin to his chest with his right, covering her in the cloak. Catlin's shaking subsided slightly, but Ian knew that he needed to get her out of the freezing cold. The icy wind didn't relent and Ian's face burned as the stinging air hit him. The journey to the cottage took longer than Ian had hoped. Catlin was again shuddering, even worse than before. "There it is," he said pointing at a thicket of trees and shrubs. Catlin followed his gaze. 

"I...don't...s-see...anything," she chattered.

"It's well hidden."

* * *

Tully sat in the meeting room, talking with Fergus over a mug of ale and a roaring fire."Do you think Catlin and Conor will be back soon?" the younger man posed. "Not likely in this weather. My guess is that they'll weather the storm in Ian's village. Unified or not, I don't remember them as the sort that would throw people out into the cold," the warrior laughed. 

"This early winter is a bad sign," Tully remarked nervously. "Every season has its place, but for winter to come so quickly..."

"Nonsense, lad. It just means that winter will be over sooner and spring can hurry up and arrive." 

"I don't like it," he shook his head sullenly.

"Why does that not surprise me?" Fergus chuckled, refusing to let him deflate his good ale-induced mood. Tully stood up to leave. "Where are you off to now, lad?" Fergus said, looking up from his mug.

"It's my turn to stand guard... on Aiobhell." Fergus nodded as Tully left the room. Tully had usually been so carefree. He had never seen him quite so troubled. First love would do that to a man. And he was sure that was what this was, for Tully, at least.

* * *

Catlin could barely feel her limbs. It was as if her arms and legs no longer existed. Her eyes slowly opened to the sight of Ian watching her as she slept in the small cottage. Catlin was wrapped in blankets and skins. A blazing fire roared in the hearth.

"How are you feeling?" Ian's voice was a lulling tone. He smiled at her, the light from the hearth made his green eyes shine like fiery gems.

"I can't feel my arms," she said weakly. Catlin couldn't ever remember being so cold. She had passed out shortly after they came upon the cottage. The loss of time suddenly struck her. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Not long..." Ian smiled. He reached down to the floor and brought a cup to her mouth. "Here, drink this." The mixture was bitter. "The healer gave it to me. She thought we might need it," he explained. Catlin drank the liquid down. Her eyes wandered around the little room. It was a sparse cottage. Ian followed her gaze. "My father and I built this cottage when I was a boy." The memory of the place had a clear impact on him. "We picked the spot because it was well hidden. You have to know where to look to find it."

She smiled at him. "It's nice." Catlin's eyes darkened slightly as she remembered what had brought her here. "Ian, how did you know where to find me?"

"My patrol saw the Romans heading south through the woods. I knew they would catch up with you... I've hunted through these trees since I was a boy. I know every trail and gully..."

"Thank you." Her voice was full of sincerity.

"Ach, there's no need," he shrugged.

"I guess Conor and I should have been more prepared for Winter..." she said with a slight smirk.


End file.
